The Apocalyptic
by Fettatd
Summary: A story about naturally the apocalypse, but a different take on it, with humor added to the horror. Although there isn't much horror yet...


The Apocalyptic-type Story

Prologue…kind of

Year 2811: Armageddon approaches

Terisphal double-checked the list of names. Satisfied, he waved his hand and retrieved a glass of orange juice from mid-air. A telephone appeared in his other hand, and he spoke into the receiver "The list is complete Your Holy Greatness." Terisphal dropped the phone, which disappeared before it was halfway to the floor. Now this may seem strange, but Terisphal has a perfectly logical explanation for it all: he's an angel. Not one of those "save someone, yes-sir-what's-your-wish" kind of angel. No, Terisphal worked paperwork for the Holy Lord. It was usually rather boring, because there simply wasn't much paperwork to be done. Terisphal leaned back in his chair, orange juice floating in front of him. And even if there was something to be done, Terisphal simply checked to make sure the papers were in order. Only upper-class angels were allowed to fill out the paperwork, so Terisphal was there to keep the work in order, for it's rather difficult to read a qualification letter if page four was missing. He took another sip of his juice, wondering how the whole Armageddon thing would turn out. He was interrupted from his thoughts by a phone ringing.

"Where'd I put the phone," mumbled Terisphal, looking around his office. "Ah there is it." He reached out with his left hand and pulled a handset out of thin air. "Hello."

"is that you Terisphal?" thundered a disembodied voice.

"Yes your Holiness," replied Terisphal, sipping at his orange juice.

"you have the list?"

"Yes your Honor. I do believe I said that," said Terisphal, looking about his desk for the list. Finding it, he grabbed it with his right hand and searched through his desk drawers for an envelope with the other. The phone remained in the air next to his ear.

"right. so you did." said the voice, sounding somewhat confused. "well bring it to me please."

"Right away, mailing it n—" Terisphal's eye's widened. "_Bring_ it to you, your Excellency?"

"yes yes what i said. bring it to me. i shall expect you within the hour. see you soon." There was a resounding click, and the room went silent. Terisphal's mouth dropped open, and the phone hit the floor with a thump.

"_Bring _it to him?" Terisphal mouthed. He shook his head, snapped at the phone (which promptly disappeared) and grabbed the list on the way out the door. A second later the door slid shut with a _whoomph_ and the office was silent.

Chapter One or Chapter Two depending on whether the prologue was really a prologue.

Year 2020: 0600 hours over the Bermuda Triangle

Field Commander Kelly Montag walked across the Class 4A Ketochi shuttle's floor to the window on the starboard side. He glanced out the window at the rolling blue and white waves that raised and crashed beneath the shuttle, wishing he could be down there, in the water, rather than up in the air. Montag never felt safe while he was in the air. He'd read too many stories about the freak accidents aircraft had, anything from freezing up to getting a duck caught in the engine. He sighed, shook his head, and wandered back over to his team.

There were 5 people in Montag's team: Brad Mylun, Nik Lucs, Terrence Smith, Calvin Mitchell, and himself. Mylun was the demolitions expert, so if you needed to blow something up, talk to Mylun. If you need to get something open, though, like a can of soup, _do not_ talk to Mylun, because he'll grab that can and rig it up with some C4 faster than you can say "I need crackers." Needless to say, after this, more soup is needed. Smith simply does it for entertainment on long flights, but has to clean up afterwards. He thinks it's a fair tradeoff.

Nik Lucs is the no-fear, front line type of guy. He refuses to flip down his visor, for he says that the enemy if more afraid if they can see his eyes. It may be the case, but simply because Lucs wears red contacts, and looks kind of like the devil.

Terrence Smith is a paranoid gunner. He carries the heavy artillery: the grenades, rocket launcher, land mines, all the heavy stuff. He even carries 5 extra ammo strips, in addition to the required 6, because he's afraid he'll run out during a battle, even with 300 rounds a strip. Including himself, he carries nearly 350 lbs of weight, but that may be because he himself weighs well over 200.

Calvin Mitchell, the comedian of the team. He carries around a deck of cards everyone and taught himself some magic tricks, like guessing which card you don't have (he guesses the 8 of spades every time simply because he lost that card during a raid in Botswana). He also carries around "10 01 Jokes for Wartime", but since it was published in 2010, most of the jokes are old, or not relevant anymore (most of the political ones no longer make any sense).

Montag picked up his FS-HPPR sniper and removed the magazine. He checked to see if it was loaded, then slapped it back in. The worst part about going on a raid was the flight over. 10 hours from dust-off from the military base in Brasilia to the supply base in Quebec, then 8 more hours until freefalling into Berlin, with little more to do than anticipate what could go wrong. Montag looked through his scope, adjusting the dials to zero it in correctly. Grabbing a long steel rod and a dirty rag, he shoved the rag down the rifle's barrel and used the rod to clean the inside.

"Time check," yelled Montag to the pilot.

"About 6 hours 'til Quebec, sir," replied the pilot.

Damn, thought Montag. That's a long time to do nothing. He slung his rifle across his back and walked over to the back hatch and hit the controls. There was a sharp hissing of smoke as the pneumatic pistols lowered the titanium plating covering the back of the dropship. Montag stepped onto the hatch and grasped the struts for support. He looked down towards the water and strained his eyes to see anything of interest. Not so much as a fish. Montag leaned up against the strut, wishing for something to take his mind off the flight. His eyes squinted as the sun dropped closer to the horizon, coloring the clouds with a dark red tinge.

His thoughts were interrupted as something flew out of the water. Montag reached up, leveled his rifle, disengaged the safety, and squeezed the trigger. There was a muffled _bang_ then a _thump_ as Montag's victim hit the deck. Calvin walked over.

"Dude," he said. "You killed Flipper." Calvin laughed and kicked at the dolphin which had received a bullet from Montag. "You gotta lighten up, Montag."

The other three came over to examine the dolphin.

"Look a' thi' perrrfect specimen, aye," said Brad, imitating the Crocodile Hunter, his childhood hero. "Yew sees thi' 'ere 'ole? Tha's for when it plys dead, eh. An' tha' bleedin' bit makes it perrrfectly re'listic." They all laughed and Terrence leaned down.

"D'yu really thinks so?" he asked, feigning ignorance (which he was rather good at.)

"Guys, chill out," said Montag. "I shot him in the fin…he's not dead." With that note, the dolphin, opened its eyes and chirped excitedly.

"Uh I guess it thought it was dead too…" pondered Terrence.

"Ah hush up ya big buffoon," retorted Nik.

Calvin raised his eyebrows. "Well if it's not dead…" he grabbed the dolphin and pushed it forward. "Oh crap this thing weighs like as much as Smith here. Someone give me a hand. No it's ok Smith, you can go back to eating donuts."

"He's just kidding dude," said Mylun, noticing Smith's downcast face. "He knows we don't have any donuts left." Mylun laughed and grabbed the dolphin's tail. "Oh my god you were right," huffed Mylun. He and Mitchell grunted and heaved the dolphin near the edge.

"I think I'm going to have to count this overtime," groaned Mitchell.

"We don't even get paid hourly. There _is_ no overtime," laughed Montag. "Just deal with it, you pathetic excuse for a soldier."

"Hey I don't see you helping," responded Mitchell.

"No because I'm the overseer. I tell you guys what to do, how to do it, and when you're doing it wrong. I'm like the CEO. But if you guys were my company, I bet we'd be out of business," said Montag.

"Hah hah oh that's rich," said Mitchell sarcastically. "Just let me complain in peace you lazy-ass." He and Mylun rolled the dolphin to the very edge, and Mylun gave a mock salute.

"Off to the depths, my watery friend," Mylun said sentimentally. "Off ye go." He and Mitchell gave one last shove and the dolphin fell into the icy blue water. It disappeared for a few seconds, then came to the surface, swimming around excitedly, chirping loudly. It dove under the water, then jumped out, into the air, performing a double-back flip.

"Oh very, very nice." Lucs clapped. "I give it a 9.4." The dolphin swam around near the dropship, pumping its tail to keep up.

"Do you think it's like thanking us or something?" asked Smith.

"Don't be an idiot," replied Mylun. "That only happens in sappy movies."

"Well, it looks that way," pouted Smith. The dolphin did indeed look happy. It performed little spins as it raced after the dropship. "You can go now, little dolphin," said Smith sympathetically. The dolphin chirped one last time, then turned away from them.

And was promptly engulfed by the toothed maw of a tiger shark.

The five soldiers looked on with open mouths, disbelief spreading across their faces.

"I think I'm going to cry," said Lucs.

Mitchell laughed and snorted, "Montag, you should've shot it again. It would have been less painful for all of us." Still chuckling, Mitchell walked back in and sat down, taking out his playing cards. "Unbelievable," he kept muttering.

Chapter Two, Or it could be Chapter Three. Whatever.

Year 2020 0630 hours still over the Bermuda Triangle

"Alright, you all know our plan of action," Montag dictated. "We replenish our supplies, also known as food and drink, in Quebec, then gear up again to fly across the ocean. After about 8 hours, we will be passing over Berlin, and jumping out of the plane into a freefall. We're to take over the meeting building, which is 125 Danke, just south of the 7-eleven, and take prisoners. I want nobody killed unless they fire upon us first. Even then, ask them politely to put down their weapon before filling their chest cavity with lead. In and out in about an hour. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I just want to know what kind of food we're getting at the airbase?" asked Mitchell. "I refuse to eat that organic stuff. I'd choose a good old fashioned pie over that stuff any day."

"How would I know what we're getting at the base? I barely even know what day it is when I wake up every morning."

"YOU are the commander. What am I getting?"

"I'm sure it's that nasty regulation stuff. But I can write you a notice so you can leave the base and get yourself a hamburger or something in the town."

"I knew there was a reason we had you as our commander. Woo-yeah! Burgers all around!" Mitchell pumped his fist in the air and grabbed a rifle, raising it over his head in a victory pose.

"Ah stuff it Mitchell," groaned Smith. "I want to get some sleep before we get to Quebec."

"Fine, I'll shut up, as soon as I finish my victory dance!" Mitchell brought his rifle in front of him and proceeded to play air guitar. "Bwow-dee-dow! Deeerrrrr!"

"No really cut it out," moaned Smith.

"Hey it's my solo!" yelled Mitchell, making an enormous racket with a variety of noises. He fell surprised to the floor as the shuttle dropped abruptly in altitude. Lucs slipped out of his chair, scrambling for his helmet, as Mylun clung to the wall for support.

"Shit, what was that!" yelled Mylun.

Montag tapped on the door to the cockpit. "Hey, pilot, what's going on?" he inquired.

The PA system crackled to life. "Sir I don't know what happened," replied the pilot. "The engine gauges suddenly dropped down to zero. They appear to be back now." The strike team in the back heard a metallic tapping as the pilot rapped on his control console. "I'll get back to you if anything goes wrong, sir."

"Sounds good pilot," said Montag. "Well men I suggest we get back to—"

"Sir sir," the pilot's voice was panicked on the radio. "Problem. Major problem."

"What is it pilot?"

"All the heat gages for the engines are steadily climbing. I opened the cooling vents, but nothing happened. I'm going to flip on the fans and misters, but prepare for a rough emergency landing."

"Prepare for emergency drop-down!" yelled Montag. "Everyone get your gear ready for landing. Check your weapons and food supplies and make sure all equipment is securely tied down." Suddenly an explosion racked the ship. The strike team stumbled across the hold. Montag fell upon the floor. "Report!" he yelled into the radio.

"We've lost the main engines. Switching all power to the reserves." There was a pause. "We now have full power to the reserve engines. I'm checking on what caused the explosion. There seemed to be an excess amount of fuel in the engines, but nothing should've caused the fire the ignited the fuel. I don't understand it," the pilot whispered over the PA. "No. No, this can't be happening!"

Montag stood up and grabbed his helmet. "What's wrong? Pilot, speak to me!"

"The engine temperature is still rising. I can't do anything with it." The pilot smashed his hand on the control console. "Alright everyone get ready for a crash landing. I'll do everything I can to keep us in the air until you're ready." Another explosion shook the shuttle. "We lost one of the reserves. Montag team, hurry up. You don't have much time."

Montag turned to his team. He looked them over for a second. "Get going, you heard the pilot." He turned to the radio. "Keep it together just for a little while, man!"

"I'm doing the best I can. I set cruise control, I just, ah, AAUGH." The radio dissolved into static as fire burst through cockpit door. Mylun screamed as the flames licked his arm. Montag slammed his helmet onto his head and tightened the chinstrap. He grabbed Mylun by the arm and pulled him away from the door.

"Lock and load! We're going to jump!" shouted Montag. Within seconds the crew had equipped themselves for a cold water landing. "Open the hatch!" commanded Montag.

Lucs grabbed the handle and yanked open the door covering the keypad. He tapped the keypad with his index finger, and then tapped it again. A puzzled look came over his face, and Lucs flipped up his visor. He jabbed his finger into the console, which exploded into sparks. "The controls are gone," coughed Lucs.

"Fix them!" screamed Montag.

"I can't, they melted!" replied a panicked Lucs. "What are we going to do?"

"Hold on I can get…" Montag shielded his eyes as the flames burst through the side hatch. "Look out!" The back hatch crumpled away. "The hatch is open, everyone—." Flames flared at the hatch, and as the sound of the final explosion began to reverberate through the shuttle, everything faded into blackness.

The Chapter After the Previous One

Year 2020 0650 hours 2000 feet above the dropship

Corporal Javon Nice ran his hand along the dashboard of his F-35 Lightning II. He glanced at the GPS system and noted the position of the Ketachi shuttle he was escorting. "Heading back around to check the rear," Nice muttered into his radio. "Follow my lead Venjatti."

"Be sure to check the stabilizers, we wouldn't want to rip those off on the turn," warned Flight Lieutenant Krishan Venjatti. Nice yanked on the joystick and pulled the plane into a tight curve. Venjatti mimicked his move on Nice's right, rolling the plane upside down. Nice hit the afterburners and up righted his fighter. Venjatti went into a spin before leveling out. He eased off the throttle as his plane cruised away from the shuttle.

"Woooo…" crooned Nice cheerfully.

"Nice, you sound rather drunk," remarked Venjatti dryly. "Not that that's a new concept, but you usually save it until we're on base."

"Oh, let's, go, fly a plane, up, to the…uh…I don't know what rhymes with plane…" Nice sang to the tune of "Let's Go Fly a Kite."

"How do you even bloody know that song?" inquired Venjatti. "I hate musicals!"

"My wife loves 'em," responded Nice, as he continued to sing. Venjatti shook his head and put his plane into a slow turn. Now he was facing the shuttle again, and something looked wrong. Venjatti flipped up his visor and squinted at the shuttle. Was that a fire? He put his visor back down and toggled a few switches on the dash. A flashing red light appeared on his HUD.

"Checking for heat signatures," mumbled Venjatti.

"What are you doing," questioned Nice, snapping out of his trance.

"Scanning our package," said Venjatti. He looked thoroughly at the display. "I was right; there is an intense amount of heat on the main engine."

Nice's fingers flew across the dials, and within seconds he had a similar display in his cockpit. He shook his head in disbelief. "The engines shouldn't even be running at that kind of temperature. What is that pilot doing?"

"Look, the temperature is dropping. Apparently the pilot did something right," smirked Venjatti. "Wait a minute. The heat is rising again. This isn't possible." Suddenly the temperature display skyrocketed and the heat patch on the primary engine expanded to more than twice its size.

"Damn right it's not possible. They just lost their engine," exclaimed Nice. "Hit your afterburners, we need to get in their fast."

"Already on it." Venjatti was pushed to the back of his seat with the sudden acceleration. He flipped on his microphone and keyed in the code 5442. A few seconds later he connected and could hear inside the cockpit of the Ketochi shuttle.

"I'm doing the best I can. I set cruise control, I just, ah, AAUGH!" the pilot yelled.

Venjatti hit the mic key. "Pilot do you copy over! This is Omega 2 over!" Static hissed and crackled into his headset. "Their pilot's gone, Nice."

"Yeah I heard you," said Nice grimly. "We'll just have to hope we get there in time to at least quench the flames." Nice's statement was punctuated by a reverberating explosion as the Ketochi shuttle was torn apart in flames. Nice snapped up his visor and slammed his fist onto the controls. "God damn it!"

"What the hell was that?" panicked Venjatti.

"I don't care what the hell it was. It could have been aliens for all I care," ranted Nice. "Or vultures, looking for a meal. Vultures armed with RPGs. That I would like to see." Nice grinned. He then shook his head. "No I don't care what it was! We need the medical search and rescue team out here on the double! Or the triple! Whichever is faster. Just get them here!

Venjatti keyed up his radio. "Omega 2 to Base, we have a problem…"

*****

Nice and Venjatti stood on the deck of the battleship U.S.S. Mirraway, in front of Admiral Larri Kenson, who had a perturbed look on his face. "Men, tell me again exactly who was on board that shuttle."

Venjatti gave Nice a sideways glance and clasped his hands behind his back. "Sir, there were 6 men on the shuttle when it took off from the airbase that morning. I was right there watching them disembark. There was the pilot, Field Commander Kelly Montag, and his strike team of four men. We, Corporal Nice and I, followed the shuttle until the…incident. No stops were made, and the next resting point wasn't until Canada." Kenson nodded his head, the corners of his mouth turned downwards. "Sir, if I may, I would like to ask you a question."

"Go ahead Lieutenant," said Kenson.

"Why is it so important how many men were on the shuttle? I think it's more important that we find out how the damn thing overheated," Venjatti said urgently.

Kenson sighed. He put his hands to his head and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. After a few moments, Kenson walked over to the railing overlooking the loading bay and rested his hands on the cool metal. "Boys, I'd like you to come over here to see this. It's hard to explain." Venjatti and Nice flanked the Admiral and glanced into the bay. Cables snapped taut as the wreckage of the Ketochi shuttle was hoisted out of the water. The hull was twisted beyond recognition, and the cockpit melted into one huge orb of steel. Burn marks coated the outer shell, turning it from grey to black.

"That's unreal," exclaimed Nice.

"Certainly a shame, isn't it," sighed Kenson. "We lost one shuttle and 6 good men." He shook his head solemnly. "Now look at the crew hold. What do you see?"

Venjatti squinted and studied the crew compartment. "Sir, it appears to be completely fused shut. The back hatch is gone, but the ceiling has caved in, and since it is touching the floor, it effectively sealed off the interior."

"When you watched the shuttle explode, did you see any of the men on board escape through the back hatch? Before the ceiling collapsed?"

"No sir, nothing came out of that shuttle before it caught fire," responded Venjatti.

"The back hatch did fall loose about 8 seconds before detonation, but nothing followed it. If any soldiers had jumped out, we would have seen it," added Nice.

The Admiral turned about to face the two pilots. "Our technical crew has determined by the density and focus of the burn marks, the shuttle was extinguished seconds after it plummeted under the water's surface. Most everything inside was recovered with minor damage, as long as it was distanced from the engines. One of the tech officials found an intact protein bar, with only minor water damage." Kenson chuckled, then his face darkened. "The pilot was recovered from that ball of debris there," Kenson remarked, pointing toward the remains of the cockpit. "He had intensive damage to his face and chest, and his legs were pinned under the control console. One arm has also sustained severe burns, as well as his face. He was still recognizable, but just barely." The Admiral walked down towards the other end of the docking bay. Nice and Venjatti followed. "See that room there?" Kenson asked pointing at a room covered in glass panels.

"That looks like your medical facility," stated Nice.

"Right you are my boy. Now that facility hasn't been put to use for some time, for we haven't had a battle on this ship in years. When we recovered the Ketochi wreckage, however, the victims were brought into the facility to be cleaned up. They're covered up now, with white sheets laying on gurneys. Tell me how many bodies you see in there."

Nice and Venjatti stared through the glass and looked for the bodies. "I can only see one," commented Nice.

"Me too," agreed Venjatti.

"That is why I wanted to know how many people were on board. We only found the body of the pilot," said Kenson grimly. "There was no way the other five could have gotten out of the shuttle after impact, and you have verified that they didn't get out before impact. They simply disappeared."

"That's not possible! Did you search everywhere?" questioned Nice.

"If you're telling the truth, the only logical explanation is that they were in the hull at the time of the crash."

"Maybe they were torn apart by the blast," suggested Venjatti.

"We thought of that, except there is no blood on the inside of the crew compartment. None at all. It was as if the strike team was no longer in the shuttle when it exploded," countered Kenson.

Nice looked puzzled. "Well," he said slowly, "if they weren't killed there, and they aren't alive here, where did they go?"

The Chapter after the One Preceding This One

Year Ecto 4, Planet Araa, Rendi Galaxy, Seige of Valu, mid-winter, 12 time marks after sunrise

Aetius K'von the half elf marched down the long entry hall inn the Castle of Valu. His chain mail vest jingled as he walked, the noise falling in between the dull thumping of his heavy leather boots. Decorating the boots was an elegant inscription of a N'ectaru'en dragon, which curled about the back, the claws forming the boot clasps. Covering his legs was a pair of forged dragonscale shin guards and a dragonscale breastplate protected his chest. Adorning his chest, Aetius had a single gem, deep red in color. During battle it was said to shine with the intensity of a burning fire. Aetius' gloves were black leather, outlined by a crimson red metal that was said to be strong as diamond.

Hanging by Aetius' side was a katana, taken from Emperor Aventium at the Battle of Lake Wheh, three years earlier. The sword was called Vestamonde, the Ancients' word for fire. Living up to its name, the sword burst into flame on the command of the wielder. The hilt was coated with etchings of flames that were colored a yellowish orange. The paint absorbed the sunlight and released it during dark times, illuminating up to the 40 foot radius. The light was so bright it hurt Aetius' eyes, so the hilt of the sword was wrapped tightly in cloth. Aetius had wanted to remove the hilt altogether, but the sword would have been rather hard to fight with consisting of only a blade.

Aetius was also an expert marksman, and carried a bow across his back. This bow, mirroring his sword, was magically enhanced. Enhanced was a bit of an understatement. This bow, named Teverion, the Elvin word for 'summon,' conjured flaming arrows when the string is pulled back to the firing position, completely eliminating the need for a quiver. Aetius' brother, Jaivenen, calls Aetius a '_infresi_ pyromaniac' (_infresi _being a common elven swear word) but tends to keep his insults to himself, especially during battles. Or before or after battles, or really anywhere in between.

Aetius reached the meeting room doors, and in an attempt to knock them open, hit them near the handles with his palms. He recoiled in pain, and, shaking his left hand, grabbed the door with his right and pulled it towards him, revealing the room beyond.

Four men were seated around a table, on which sat a model of the Castle Valu. Surrounding the castle's only visible side, for it was set in the entrance of a deep valley, were miniature replicas of soldiers and artillery, separated into battle groupings. The battle groupings were very similar in make, Aetius noted. Two score footmen, a dozen cavalry, and between one and two heavy artillery batteries. One grouping near the back consisted of a large bear, three score footmen and fifteen royal guardsmen. Aetius looked toward the men seated around the table.

"The enemy king is back here I'm assuming?" Aetius questioned, pointing to the previous group. One man nodded his agreement. Aetius fell back into thought again. "They don't have any archers," he murmured.

"One of the men sat up and opened his mouth to speak. "Yes that is one advantage we have over the Lekaru," he said.

"But," interrupted another man, "their armor is so thick our archers will be hard pressed to even wound the enemy, much less kill them."

The men began to argue, but before it escalated into flipping fingers and swinging chairs, a younger man stood and waved his hands at the bickering generals.

"Friends, friends, save this unhealthy banter for another day," said Prince Naferen. The Prince turned to Aetius and apologized. "We haven't even introduced ourselves and there's already disagreement," he laughed cheerfully. He had a nice light laugh, kind of what someone would sound like if they sucked on helium for a bit then chortled gleefully. Maybe not so bad, but similar. "As you know, I am Prince Ien Naferen My father, King Leprock, is in the barracks talking with the troops."

Naferen pointed at the man who first spoke. "That's the troop sergeant, Evon Brok." Evon raised a hand in acknowledgement. "He's usually the one who's in with the troops now. He's been training them for fourteen years now." He gestured toward the man who provided the engaging dialogue for the other side of the argument. "That's Keregath Derren, the artillery commander." Keregath lifted his eyebrows at Aetius, which Aetius assumed to be some sort of greeting. "We have a few scattered trebuchets, a dozen catapults, and around twenty bolt throwers. Not near as much as we were hoping for, but it will have to do. Keregath will be on the west side of the wall if you need him." Naferen moved over to the man who had not yet spoken. "This is Endoris, our priest." Endoris nodded his head in welcome.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," said Aetius with a smile. "Now, can I ask about our defenses? I know about Keregath and the artillery, but what about the soldiers? How many do we have, and who is in command of each regiment?"

"We have 200 footmen on each side of the wall. Evon will take the south side, and Endoris is commanding the northern troops. More footmen are inside the city, and will be under the command of my father. I myself will be mounted—". There was a snicker from Keregath. "Could you please be more mature for once, Keregath?" Naferen sighed. "Anyway I will be mounted with two score knights on horseback in the front courtyard. We have left all the archers above the main gate under your leadership."

"Good, that should work itself out nicely," commented Aetius. "What time will the troops be at their posts?"

"In little over an hour, Aetius."

_A little over an hour later…_

Aetius surveyed the archers with a keen eye, which just so happened to be his left, which doesn't really matter at all, and doesn't relate to anything else about him. He decided he would be needed most on the south side of the gate, for there were two less archers and the ones who were there looked a little unsure of themselves. Aetius walked over to them and began to speak. Before he could get out a word though, a voice rang out, "_The enemy has arrived!" _Everyone on the wall looked east, and sure enough, the army of the Lekaru was marching towards the Castle of Valu, in such a determined orderly march, that one could feel the vibrations caused by each heavy boot hitting the ground at precisely the same time. Aetius walked to the front of his troops.

"Men!" he yelled. "This would be a time for me to give a speech. A courageous, strength-inspiring speech. And I would do it, any other day. But not this day. You men need no help from me to know that you will win this battle; you _will_ smite these treacherous devils and grind their armor into the ground with the heel of your boots. I need not say anything, but I will remind you of this. These men have seceded from the Kingdom, brought shame upon all men of honor who live in this world. These men are a plague upon mankind, elfkind, and all other kinds there may be. They think they can defeat the defenders of Valu, but they are wrong. Dead wrong. So I say to you, come with me. Fight with me and kill these traitorous bastards, once and forever!"

A roar of approval arose from the archers, as each raised their bow in a salute. "To the wall!" shouted Aetius. The archers lined up against the wall in two rows, one in the windows behind the first. Aetius walked back and forth behind the lines, watching both his troops and the troops they were destined to fight. Aetius removed his own bow from his back and tested the string. He glanced up and noted the movement of the enemy. "Bows up!" he shouted. There was a whoosh as each bow swung up towards the sky, an arrow gleaming in the sunlight. Aetius took his position on the south side, and leapt up onto the battlements for a clearer view. "Ready…" said Aetius, and each bowstring was pulled back, ready to fire. Suddenly Aetius noticed the opposing army had stopped. They appeared to be chanting something, and there was what appeared to be a commander standing upon a rock, leading the chant. "What the hell are they doing?" asked Aetius of the man next to him.

"Well sir, usually the invading army does a chant of some sort, kind of like a big pep talk, then they attack us," replied the soldier.

"Hmm," mumbled Aetius. "So we are supposed to wait for them to finish, and _then_ we fight?"

"Yes sir, that's how it works sir," said the soldier.

Aetius thought for a few seconds. "I'll take the commander," he mumbled to himself. He turned his head towards the rest of the archers. "Open fire."

"But sir," whined the archer next to Aetius.

Aetius pulled back his bowstring and a flaming arrow appeared, resting upon Aetius' glove. "I said 'open fire'," he interrupted, and released his arrow, sending it streaking down towards the Lekaru, followed by dozens more.

Chapter Monkey

Year Ecto 4, Planet Araa, Rendi Galaxy, Seige of Valu, mid-winter, 13 time marks after sunrise

Commander Deventium turned to the rest of the Lekaru as they began clashing their swords against their shields. "This castle, the Castle of Valu, will be no match for our might. Every one of you will fight to the death, and if you run, I will personally hunt you down and slaughter you and your loved ones. For King Avat!"

"For King Avat!" A cheer rose from the gathered Lekaru, growing into a chant. "For King Avat! For King Avat!" The soldiers gave each other reassuring looks, some fearless, some solemn, but all were bloodthirsty. One soldier, by the name of Bin Evile, looked up during the chant.

"For King Avat! For King..." Bin Evile slowed his chanting, and presently stopped altogether.

"What are you doing you fool?" whispered a soldier next to him, "You going to get yourself executed!"

"You there, Bin Evile!" shouted Commander Deventium. "Chant, boy!"

"But sir, there are arrows flying towards us!" whined Bin Evile, as more Lekaru soldiers looked toward the battlements.

"Don't be ridiculous, the enemy always allows us to do our chant first!" retorted Commander Deventium. There was a whooshing noise and Commander Deventium, coughed as an arrow plunged into his chest. He looked down, realized the arrow was on fire and screamed, falling to his knees. Within seconds the body was completely engulfed in flames, but the arrow had gone.

"Look out!" someone yelled, as dozens more arrows, none of these aflame, cut into the ranks.

"Holy sh–" a man was cut off as three arrows lodged themselves in his head and gut.

Bin Evile lowered his shield, which was now peppered with arrows, and straightened his helmet. He put his lucky feather in the top of his helmet, then raised his sword towards the castle. "Charge!" he screamed, and was met with a rush of soldiers, descending on the castle like flies to a dead rodent.

*****

"Keep those arrows coming!" shouted Aetius, as he himself let loose another flaming barrage. Someone screamed, and two archers fell back, one dead with an arrow in his chest, the other softly moaning, nursing a wound in his shoulder. Aetius slid his bow across his back and ran towards the men. "What are you looking at? Keep firing!" he said to the remaining archers who were still fixated on the wounded. Aetius stopped at the wounded man. "Let me see your arm," he said calmly. The man whined and held his right arm towards Aetius. The arrow had broken, leaving a small piece of wood sticking out about two inches. Aetius grabbed it and yanked the arrow out of the man's arm.

"Oh my god!" the man screamed in pain. "What the hell was that for?"

"Can you still shoot?" asked Aetius.

"Are you kidding me? No I can't shoot!" replied the panicky archer.

"Well then stay back, and keep your sword drawn," Aetius commanded. The archer looked at him with wide eyes. Aetius put his hand on his shoulder. "This is war kid. People die, people are kill, but if you're not dead you better keep fighting." With that Aetius retrieved his bow and fired another arrow down into the melee below. He was rewarded with a satisfying scream. "Ah, music to my ears." A small grin crept on to Aetius' face as another fiery stick of doom descended upon the Lekaru.

"LADDERS!" a gruff voice shouted from the south side of the wall. Aetius glanced south and saw half a dozen ladders being lifted toward the wall.

Aetius selected a group of archers who were the farthest south. "You ten, fire upon the ladders!" The ten he had chosen immediately turned to face this new threat. "You eight watch the north side," Aetius said to the northern group of archers. "Everyone else you're with me. Protect the main gate!" Arrow after arrow rained upon the Lekaru, killing dozens of men. Aetius leapt up onto the edge of the wall to get a better view. A dozen men were directly below, hoisting a battering ram to the main gate. Aetius fired eight times, and eight soldiers fell to the ground, their bodies aflame. The four who were left covered their heads and ran back toward the heart of the army. Three were cut down by Aetius' marksmanship. Aetius dropped down off the wall and helped the northern archers. "Aim for the rope men!" he shouted, and was met with eight blank stares. Aetius rolled his eyes. "The men with the ropes." There was a murmur of understanding as all bows moved downwards toward the base of the ladders. Aetius fired arrow after arrow, knocked dozens of soldiers off the ladders. One arrow missed, and stuck itself into the side of the ladder, catching it aflame. Aetius began to lament his miss, then realized what a brilliant plan that was. Notching another arrow, he let the arrow fly, sticking it right above the first. The combined flames ate through the wood and the top half of the ladder began to teeter. Aetius fired another arrow, and the ladder fell apart, splintering and raining fire down below. He had no time to celebrate though, as a shout rang out.

"Siege engines!"

Aetius whipped around just in time to see half of the central archers wiped out by a giant metal grappling hook. Archers fell to the ground and tried to crawl away. One unfortunate archer was caught on the hook, and as it was dragged back towards the wall, he was pulled along with it. His leg was impaled as the hook met the wall, and the archer fell onto his back, breathing heavily.

"Everybody back to your stations! Keep the Lekaru off the wall!" yelled Aetius as he notched another arrow. Without warning, a ladder clattered against the wall where the hook had latched, and a Lekaru soldier leapt off onto the ground. He looked to his left at the moaning archer and ended his misery with a quick sword thrust. He then turned to the rest with an evil grin.

"Who's next?"

Chapter Good

Year Ecto 4, Planet Araa, Rendi Galaxy, Seige of Valu, mid-winter, 14 time marks after sunrise

Aetius released his arrow which quickly embedded itself into the Lekaru's chest. The soldier waved his arms about, then toppled backwards over the wall.

"Apparently you were," said Aetius grimly. He turned to the remaining archers. "Everyone fan out behind me. Alternate shots between you and whoever is next to you. Stay in control," he commanded. Another Lekaru clambered over the wall and was cut down immediately by five arrows. A third Lekaru soldier peaked his head over the edge and let fly an arrow. Aetius dived out of the way, but unfortunately the archer behind him was not so lucky, and collapsed to the ground. Aetius screamed in sheer rage and planted an arrow in the Lekaru archer's forehead, sending him off the edge. Aetius looked around at his scared archers, and glanced to the other parts of the wall. They weren't doing much better. "Fall back to the edge of the wall, and if I start to get overrun, descend the stairs and cover me from there," said Aetius. "Now go!" The archers gladly agreed and fell back into their positions, bows at the ready. Aetius put away his bow and drew his katana. As he advanced toward the ladder, three Lekaru had breeched it and stood facing Aetius. They grinned at each other and began to converge on him. Aetius whispered something under his breath, and his sword burst into flames. He twirled it, leaving a trail of smoke in it's wake.

"I am ready," he said casually to the soldiers, whose mouths were gaping open. Aetius jumped forward and speared the first soldier, who dropped his shield and sword, unable to even move before death took him. He spun around to parry the other attacks, then pivoted on his leading foot to put his dominant hand forward. He slashed downward at the right soldier, knocking his sword from his grasp. The third soldier swung low at Aetius' feet. Aetius grabbed the second soldier by the collar and drug him into the path of the oncoming sword, The sword lodged itself into soldier's leg, caught on the shinguard. Aetius backhanded the soldier, sending him sprawling to the ground, grasping his jaw. The third soldier managed to reclaim his sword from his comrade, but it was immediately knocked away. Aetius kicked the man square in the chest, knocking him onto his back. The second man clambered onto his knees, and felt a stinging pain as Aetius' flaming katana cut through his midsection. He fell dead amidst a pool of blood and flame. The final soldier scooted backwards, trying to get away from vicious half-elf. He scrambled up and turned to run, and came face to face with a wall of archers. "Fire," he heard the half-elf say, and seconds later he became a human pin-cushion. Aetius raised his sword into the air as the man flopped to the ground. He whispered something under his breath, and a stream of fire lanced into the air. Many pairs of eyes followed the fire stream, which had condensed into a flaming ball. It continued it's ascent until it hung over the middle of the Lekaru army, where it slowed to a stop. There it hung, for what seemed like hours, as each eye fixated upon the glowing mass. Suddenly, in a flash of light, the ball rocketed downwards, expanding as it went. Lekaru rushed away to escape the ever-broadening shadow cast upon the ground. With a deafening roar, the fiery mass smashed into the ground, obliterating anything it touched as the flames danced about, turning the battlefield into a lovely lightshow. Aetius looked at his archers.

"Let's finish this." The archers cheered and hefted their bows. "With me!" shouted Aetius, as he leapt onto the ladder still perched upon the wall. "Down to the battlefield!" He slid down the ladder into the body of enemies, his weapon of flame cutting him a path. Aetius looked up as a pair of horsemen rode towards him. Aetius looked about as he muttered a word, causing his sword to extinguish. Swiftly he spun about, sheathed his now darkened sword and sprinted toward an unlucky footman who was standing alone. Seeing Aetius charge, he shakily lowered his spear. Aetius side-stepped the half-hearted defense attempt and yanked the spear from the soldiers grasp, slamming the butt of it into the man's stomach. The man doubled over in pain, and rolled onto his back, moaning. Aetius deftly plunged the spear into the soldier's midsection, then just as quickly removed it, turning to face the horsemen. After tossing the spear up and down a few times to get a sense of it's weight, Aetius hurled it in the direction of the cavalry. There was a scream as the spear entered the chest cavity of the closer horseman, throwing off his balance, which sent him and his horse to the ground. Unfortunately for him, he was under his ride. The second rider barely flinched as he lowered his halberd on the right side of his horse, bearing down on Aetius. Aetius stood his ground until he could practically feel the horse's foul breath in his eyes, then jumped to his right, grabbing the reigns of the animal as it passed. The momentum of the beast nearly ripped Aetius' arm out of it's socket, but also pulled him upwards, ending him on the back of the horse, seated behind the rider, who began to glance around in fear and confusion. Aetius reached around the left shoulder of the soldier and grasped the shaft of the halberd, grasping it with his right hand also. He drew the shaft towards him, trapping the man's neck between himself and the halberd. Aetius snapped his wrists back and broke the man's neck with the wooden shaft. He released the halberd with one hand and pushed the newly dead rider off the horse.

He hefted the halberd in his right hand and drew his sword with his left. Slapping the horse on the flank, he took off into the crowd of soldiers, hacking off limbs left and right. Suddenly a large shadow engulfed Aetius. He glanced up just in time to see a giant bear leaping towards him. He pulled his left foot out of the stirrup and placed it on the saddle, then pushed off, propelling himself off the horse and under the bear's path. As he descended, Aetius raised the halberd, catching the tip in the bear's chest. The halberd was yanked from his grasp as the bear passed over, and Aetius landed hard against the ground. Aetius rolled to a kneeling position, facing the bear, sword in hand. The bear landed heavily on the ground, blood spraying from the new wound. Howling in pain, the bear reared in the air. When it landed, it shook the ground, and turned immediately to face Aetius. For what seemed like hours, the two stared at each other. Aetius' slanted icy blue eyes locked with the blazing red eyes of the bear. Slowly, the bear lay down, it's large paws stretched out in front of him. Aetius cautiously lowered his sword. A form suddenly jumped off the back of the bear and landed on the ground in front of Aetius. Aetius leapt backwards, swinging his sword up to a protective position.

The form, rose from the kneeling position it had fallen in, and stood, head looking down. The figure's right hand twitched near the handle of the sword hanging loosely from his jem-studded belt. A single shudder shook the man from head to toe, then his head lifted, revealing burning red eyes. The man opened and closed his mouth a few times, then, in a voice that sounded like a screeching hawk, said, "Your end is now, Aetius K'von."

Chapter Lithium

Year Ecto 4, Planet Araa, Rendi Galaxy, Seige of Valu, mid-winter, 17 time marks after sunrise

In a split-second, the sword was in the man's hand. Aetius barely had time to raise his sword before his opponent delivered a powerful downward cleave. The impact of the sword jarred Aetius' hands, almost making him drop his sword. In the blink of an eye the man had spun his sword around in a full circle and it was swiftly closing in on Aetius' exposed left side. Pushing off with his left foot, Aetius bought himself a precious second that allowed him to rotate his sword into the proper parry position. Again, the strike nearly tore the sword from his hands.

I can't keep fighting him like this, thought Aetius. He fights as if he's possessed!

Aetius jumped backwards and did a back-handspring, propelling himself a good 20 feet away from the flailing warrior. Sheathing his sword, Aetius grabbed his bow off his back. Before he had a chance to get it up his crazed enemy was already storming towards him, closing the gap rather quickly. Aetius summoned an arrow and shot the ground directly in front of him, creating a wall of flame. He began to back-pedal, hoping the attacker would not go straight through the flames. Pulling back the string, Aetius released another arrow, this time rewarded with a scream from the other side of the flames. Suddenly a roar deafened Aetius. Looking right, he saw the great bear lumbering towards him.

"Ah, son of a _treetch_," swore Aetius as he raised his bow. "Can I please just fight one of you at a time?" He loosed an arrow which pierced the right shoulder of the bear. It yowled in pain, and without the support of it's right leg, crashed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. Aetius lowered his bow a little, and pulled back the string again, aiming for the bear's head. Lifting his head, he heard footsteps on his left. "You have got to be kidding me," he groaned. Aetius spun around, bow raised, just in time to see the man burst through the flames, catching fire. Aetius first looked on in amazement, then concentrated on firing his arrow. The man jumped; the arrow was released. It hit the man in the leg, sending him tumbling in the air towards Aetius. Aetius fell onto his back and used his momentum to kick the incoming attacker over his head down the incline behind him. Aetius drew a breath in pain, for the man had managed to nick his left side, leaving a small wound. He dropped his bow and clasped the wound in his hands, both covered in blood when he removed them. He tore off his left sleeve and tied it around his waist, covering the wound. It wasn't too great, but it would hold.

**ROOOAAAARRR!**

"What?" Aetius said in disbelief. He looked over his shoulder and saw the bear again rushing towards him, showing no sign of a limp. "Why won't you die!" yelled Aetius. He grabbed his bow and fired three arrows in succession, all three finding their target. The bear tumbled over and fell still in the dust. Not taking any chances, Aetius fired twice more at the bear's body, both arrows implanting themselves in the bear's throat. Suddenly a look of fear came into Aetius' eyes. If this bear wasn't dead, he thought, then logically, the other guy still isn't dead!

As if on cue, climbing back up the incline was the seeming immortal man, body burned, left arm twisted at a grotesque angle, but nonetheless still fighting his way up the slope. "You have got to be kidding me!" screamed Aetius. He loosed arrow after arrow at the hideous beast of a man, but nothing seemed to affect him. Aetius decided to focus on the joints, hoping to break them apart. Tilting his head to get a better angle, he fired an arrow at the man's right arm. It hit right above the elbow and tore the arm clean in half. The man's sword clattered to the ground, but he just picked it up in his left hand, and started to run. Panicked, Aetius fired a few more shots before throwing his bow aside and unsheathing his sword. The man began to speed up, going unnaturally fast. Aetius hesitantly raised his sword, unsure of what he was going to do. The possessed man continued to gain speed, and right before he reached Aetius, he jumped in the air, sending himself flying, descending upon Aetius. Aetius spun right and twirled his sword around behind the falling man. The man's sword managed to hit Aetius' wrist, but Aetius sliced off the man's left arm at the shoulder. Shaking off the pain, Aetius drove his blade into the skull of his attacker, who stopped shuddering and fell quiet. Aetius leaned on his sword and looked around. There was still battle around him, but it had mostly moved farther down the wall, where the enemy must have breached it. "There must be a sorcerer here somewhere, if these two were turned undead," mumbled Aetius. He looked out towards the plains and scanned for any sort of magical residue. After a moment he found it. There, on left side of the horizon, was a purple dust cloud in the air. "I must tell the King," said Aetius, and he turned to run back to the castle.

"Ah, not so fast," a voice behind him chortled. "You have preformed admirably, and did a spectacular job in decimating my two undead, but unfortunately, I still need you dead." Aetius turned around, raising his bow, but the sorcerer tore open a space rift and leapt through, vanishing from sight. Aetius lowered his bow and began to back toward the fortress. He glanced over his shoulder, and heard a pop. Turning back he saw the sorcerer materialize in front of him, a long staff in his hand. "You shall be silent!" shouted the mage, and swung his staff. It connected with Aetius' right cheekbone, hitting with such force it immediately broke it. Behind the force of the swing was also the force of the magic, which threw Aetius 115 feet into the castle wall, which promptly broke from the pressure.

Aetius hit the ground of the courtyard with immense power. The soldiers rushed over to him. Lying on the ground he coughed and said "Quick tell the King there is a mage down here."

"Yessir," replied one of the soldiers, giving a crisp salute.

Aetius heaved himself to his feet, grimacing with every move. "Do you have a healer?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Yessir, we have F-f-father Brensser," stuttered another soldier. "I'll go g-get him." With that he ran towards a small chapel on the other side of the courtyard.

"You need to patch up this wall right now," coughed Aetius. "If they find this opening--" A sudden explosion shook the foundations of the castle. The section of the wall where Aetius stood collapsed, burying him before he could finish his sentence.

Chapter Sparta

Year 2811, somewhere not accessible to normal people...who haven't been messed with by God of course...or God's minions...you get my drift

Aetius opened his eyes hesitantly, but to his surprise there were no rocks plummeting down onto his head. In fact, he appeared to be floating a few feet in the air. "Wait," said Aetius. He _was_ a few feet in the air. That fact changed rather quickly. Aetius hit the cold marble floor with a muffled thump. Groaning, Aetius sat up and glanced around.

He was in a circular room, that appeared to be made of some sort of stone. It first had felt like marble, but it could very well be granite, or something different entirely. There was no way to determine how long or wide, or even how tall the room was. The room seemed to fade off into oblivion. From a glance, the room appeared to have sides, but they were impossible to focus on. There were about a dozen other people in the room. Standing along about 30 feet away was a humanoid, wearing a chestplate, what appeared to be a skirt, a cape, and a plumed helmet. He looked a little confused, but nonetheless he appeared to have complete control over himself, confidently spinning his long shafted spear in spectacular circles at his side.

To his right was a group of five, wearing the most interesting clothing, which appeared to be simple cloth, covered with some metal. They had small helmets on, and carried very odd looking pieces of metal, vaguely resembling a crossbow, but without the bow. Or even the cross. It just looked like the handle. The five were lounging on some chunks of material, made of the same stuff that the room was. One was sitting on the floor, looking rather dejected and even shedding a few tears. Every once and a while he would look up and say something to the others, in which they always replied with the one on the right smacking the one on the floor and saying something in an irritable manner. The other three looked rather worn, with circles under their eyes.

Directly in front of Aetius was a tall, gaunt figure, covered in hair. He stood about 8 feet tall, and had long dangling arms that ended in a hand with four fingers. The thing's feet split off into two at the ankle, giving the beast four feet, each with three toes, bigger in the middle and smaller at each edge. He wore a ragged robe, deep red in color, with a hood that hung behind him. On his hip rested a short sword, probably only two feet in length. The most amazing thing about this man, if you could call it a man, was his face. It was the most serene face Aetius had ever seen. The eyes were a misty blue, and appeared almost sad, but at the same time understanding. He wasn't looking at anything in particular, just staring off into space, giving his eyes this distant look that emitted an aura of peace. His mouth extended thinly across the lower part of his face, significantly lower than a human's. It curved the slightest bit upward at the edges, then seemed to just vanish into the small creases that ran parallel to each other on the things face. With every breath, these creases flared and then shut, apparently making up for the lack of a nose. The middle of his face was perfectly smooth, almost shining. His ears lay flat against his head, only moving ever so often, as if he was trying to pick up an indistinguishable sound coming from somewhere over yonder. His hair was a bluish-black color, and seemed to have a mind of its own, twirling and waving in the air. It gave the impression that the thing was underwater, just floating, contemplating something deep and meaningful. Aetius stared at the beautiful face, feeling more and more comfortable in his situation. The things eyes flicked back to life, and caught Aetius' eyes. The beautiful face dropped down as the thing stared at the ground, seeming uneasy, and a little bit fatigued. He pulled his hood over his head, then knelt to the ground, holding his hands together near his mouth. Aetius looked away, embarrassed, and surveyed the rest of the room's occupants.

A sharp chittering caught Aetius' attention, and he glanced in the direction that it came from. Jumping about in a seemingly ecstatic manner was a group of creatures, who uncannily resembled meerkats. They were about two and a half feet tall, and were chattering wildly at each other. There were three, and around them were some weapons and other materials. A few daggers, a small stack of rocks and three pouches, which Aetius presumed were filled with food by the way they bulged. The three of them looked to be having an argument, of what, though, Aetius had no idea. All the chatter sounded the same to him. It was rather annoying. A sudden crash whisked him alert. One of the daggers had flown from the pile onto the floor ten meters away. "One of them must have thrown it," thought Aetius. He silently hoped that none of the meerkat creatures killed each other, for although it wouldn't affect him, it would be a pointless waste of life. Also, it would probably scar him for life; seeing a meerkat butcher another with a knife. Aetius shivered. He looked at one of the creatures, who suddenly stopped jumping and stared intently at one of the rocks, stacked in a pile. After a moment, the rock rose and was thrown to the left of the concentrating meerkat, hitting the ground a few meters away. The creature immediately went back to leaping about. Aetius' jaw dropped. Did these things have telekinesis? After a few more moments of studying them, with rocks and daggers and pouches flying about, Aetius decided that it would be a good idea not to upset these little critters.

Aetius stared about him, and, upon seeing nothing else of interest, started to sit on the ground. As he touched down, his gaze moved up. He leapt back up and, startled, slapped his hand on the hilt of his katana. About 8 meters away was a...a..._something_. It looked like a wisp of smoke, but every few seconds it would morph into something else—a dragon, a snake, a human, a gnome—then would sift right back into the smoky state. Aetius stared intently at it until his eyes began to hurt. He blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes with his right hand, then sat down as he had been planning to do. Realizing how tired he was, Aetius yawned and rolled over onto his side. Before drifting off to sleep, he saw the smoke transform into something terrifying: himself.

*****

Aetius awoke to the same scene before, with minor changes. A few of the humans were sleeping, the smoke seemed to have tired itself out and was floating a few feet above the ground, slowly waving back and forth. The cloaked creature was still sitting, but the little meerkats were all sleeping in a heap, the telekinesis battle apparently have worn them out. The armored man was sitting on a rocky outcropping, holding his helmet in his hands.

Aetius sat up and stretched his hands over his head, popping both of his shoulders. He emitted a sigh of satisfaction, and brought himself to one knee. A flash of light out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Spinning to both feet, Aetius whipped out his katana, immediately taking a defensive stance. Looked at the area that caught his attention, he didn't believe what he saw. "Really," he thought. "I should believe everything. I'm in a snapping marble room, and have no idea how I got here, when I should be dead." A man, or at least what looked like a man, was descending from the ceiling. He had bluish skin, and was dressed in a blue robe. As he touched down to the ground, Aetius lowered his weapon. One of the humans, on the other hand, raised theirs.

"Who the hell are you?" he yelled.

"Relax, or as you may say 'be cool'," the blue man said.

" 'Be cool?' " scoffed another one of the humans. "Dude, that was out like 8 years ago."

"I'm sorry, I'm not quite up to speed with the times," apologized the man in blue.

"What are they even talking about..." mumbled the armored man.

"I have no idea," said the cloaked thing. "Maybe it's a code."

"Yeah and maybe you're an idiot," said the man in armor.

"Now now, let's all be civil," said the blue man. "I am Terisphal, the overseer."

"Overseer of what?"

"Are you an angel?"

"What are we even doing here?"

"Can I just leave?"

"Would all of you just shut up?"

"These are all very valid questions," replied Terisphal calmly. "First off, I am the overseer of Heaven's army. Yes I am an angel, and I will tell you why you're here soon. No you can't leave, it's physically impossible, but you can all shut up." Everyone gave a half-hearted sigh, and a roll of the eyes. "Oh that wasn't a real question was it? So sorry."

"So this is heaven's army," one of the human soldiers said. "There's a grand fucking total of 11 of us, and three of them look like god damn meerkats. What kind of army is this? What are we fighting? The demon broccoli stalks from the underworld?"

The heavier human looked amazed. "I always said broccoli was evil!"

"Dude he's kidding," said one of the others. "Mylun, chill out. Let the blue guy talk."

"Lucs, look, I'm a little freaked out here. I'm in the middle of, well, Satan knows what, and this blue creep is telling me that we're going to fight something...that we're an army. How _should _I be feeling?"

"Don't worry, be happy..."

"Shut up Mitchell."

"Mylun look, we're all a little tired, maybe seeing things..."

"You don't get it!" screamed Mylun. "I'm not crazy, I don't know what I am. I'm just ready to kill something, and I swear to God, or Satan, or whoever the hell I swear to in this god damn place."

"Damn it Mylun just cut it out. Yes I have no idea where we are, but screaming is not going to get us anywhere so just shut the hell up, alright?" said the final human, who until this point had been silent. "That goes for all of you. We'll listen to the angel, then decide what to do. Hopefully he can cut out that step for us. Everybody got it?"

This was met by a small chorus of "Yes Montag" as the rest of them got comfortable and rested their gaze on the angel. A few tense minutes past.

"Well," inquired Mylun.

"Well what?" asked Terisphal innocently.

"God damn it this is why I'm so fucking angry!" ranted Mylun. "Just keep talking before I kill you."

"I don't think that you could..."

Montag spoke up. "Please I would _not _bring that up at this moment in time. Just keep talking."

Terisphal shrugged. "Alright, if you think it's best. I will soon be telling you why you all are here. But we are still waiting on one warrior."

Chapter One (Warrior)

Year of the Torto, aboard Tree Glen, a small station above the planet Iris, the Mesda Galaxy, 9:3 in the evening.

Wraith 3 rose two fingers. The rest of Wraith Squad stopped and formed into a delta formation behind 3. 3 leaned forward and touched the metal paneling in front of them. A few seconds later, he stood upright and turned to his team. Tapping the side of his helmet, his intricate visor flipped in, up, and out to reveal his face.

"The demon came this way. He's cut holes in each piece of tiling he's slipped on. Good idea to place oil on random tiles Wraith 5," said Wraith 3.

"Thank you sir," replied Wraith 5. They started off again, moving quickly and quietly down the hall.

"You know," whispered Wraith 4 to Wraith 7. If this guy is leader, why is he Wraith 3?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he was hit in the head three times as an infant, and that just made him partial to the number."

"I bet he was hit more than that." 4 laughed. Wraith 2 turned around and hit him on the helmet.

"You're going to be hit in the head more than three times today if you're not careful," hissed Wraith 2. Silent once again fell over the team of 8 who stalked the menace terrorizing the Tree Glen. Minutes passed by and all that was heard was the gentle _clik clik _of metal boots on the metal floor. Wraith 7 checked the time on his helmet's display. 9:8. They had been walking about for over half a cleck. The day was almost over. And what had they found? Nothing, absolutely nothing, unless you count the dents and holes as something, then they had found dents and wholes.

"This is just bloody great," thought 7. "I bet the thing isn't even in the station anymore." More time went by and still the only noise breaking the crushing silence was the clicking of the boots. Finally, 3 held up two fingers. Repeating what they had done before, Wraith Squad dropped into a delta formation.

"Let's pray that he found something worthwhile," muttered 4. 3 brought his hand up to his face, and retracted his face plate. Glaring intently at his fingertips, 3 finally looked back to his team. He tapped his helmet, indicating that each of them show their faces. There was a chorus of hissing as the other seven face plates retracted and slid out of the way. Seven pairs of eyes squinted at the brightness of the corridor. Eventually, all eyes came to rest on 3 and what he held in his hand. It was a battery pack, belonging to the standard military issue hand pistol, the Lancer.

"Yeah that's a battery pack," remarked 8. "That's bloody great. Now what does it mean?"

"Obviously there was some sort of battle here, otherwise this wouldn't have come out of the gun," said 3 arrogantly. "And see these dark patches on the wall? Either blaster fire, though it must have been glancing to create such a light mark, or armor scraping against the wall. Either way, it leads to the explanation that some kind of fight took place here."

1 was on the other side of 3, looking down the next hallway. He tapped 3 on the shoulder. "What is it 1?" asked 3.

"You could've just looked down this hallway sir." As the rest of the squad moved to get a better view of the hallway, there were sharp intakes of breath. Down the hallway was a scene of utter carnage. Bodies were strewn across the floor, missing limbs or sporting huge stab wounds. Weapons lay about, some broken into pieces. 3 coughed in disbelief as he walked down the corridor, inspecting the damage. There was no blood on the walls or the floor; it appeared that the blade cauterized the wound as soon as it was made. Touching each man's neck to check for a pulse, 3's face contorted with pain.

"I though..." he gasped. "I thought everyone got to the safe zone."

"Apparently not," commented 5. "But don't worry sir, this wasn't your fault. How could you have done anything to either warn or save them? Don't blame yourself sir." 3 continued to check the bodies.

"All of these are from the scientist's quarters. They all have the double star inside a cube on their lapels. We must be near the lab." Looking up, everyone saw a sign pointing left: "**-- LABORATORY**". Glancing below the sign was a door that was torn from the frame, with the same burn marks the made up the wounds on the victims.

"Looks like he busted in on 'em," said 2.

"It does doesn't it?" murmured 3. A sudden cough caused 3 to wheel around and stare at one of the dead. But he wasn't dead. He coughed again.

"Tell me it's gone, please," rasped the man.

"Well I don't know if it's gone, but it sure ain't here," said 1.

"It's not safe unless it is dead. Has active camouflage. Can't see it clearly at all." The man coughed violently, rolling over onto his side. When his fit had subsided, he lay on his back again, eyes half-closed.

"Any idea why he attacked this station sir?" asked 3.

"Well, we were all in the lab, designing the plans for the new weapon, and suddenly there was a knocking at the door. Rick went over to check who was outside, but before he got there the door was torn right off the frame. Rick was cut down immediately, a blade sliding right between his shoulder blades." The man winced, and clutched at his side. The team could see he had been wounded.

"6 get over there and patch up that wound," barked 3. "Continue sir."

"Thank you," sputtered the man to 6. "Well, we didn't see anything until the active camouflage came down. Then we saw him, this tall figure, very slim. A few of us pulled out our pistols, leveling them at the figure. Derek walked toward the thing. 'What are you here for!' he yelled. The thing looked toward him and lowered his head, almost in shame. 'You,' he replied gravely, in a deep voice, his hand panning around the room, gesturing to us all. A couple of us screamed as he lunged towards Derek with his sword glowing a metallic blue. Derek didn't even get his hand to his pistol before he was dead. The rest of us ran towards the hallway. Grif managed to hit the alarm on the way out. As we poured out into the hallway, the thing had turned and swung his sword. It killed Grif, and nicked my side. The momentum of it knocked me over here, where I passed out from shock. Apparently, nobody made it out alive."

"Apparently," commented 2.

"Alright, let's get some tactics working here," said 3. "2, you and 8 take the survivor back to rally point beta. I'll radio ahead for evac. 1 and 7, you guys follow this corridor. 4 and 5, stay here and examine the laboratory. 6, you come with me, we'll take this passage and meet back up with 1 and 7 at the crossroads. Any questions? No? Good move out."

"I had a question," mumbled 2. "But does anyone listen to me? Nooooo."

"Quit complaining 2."

"Man, he hears _everything_," whined 2 as he and 8 helped the survivor to his feet.

1 walked over to 7 and slapped his back. "Alright, let's get going. Show this alien who's in charge."

"I think it'd be awesome if he just surrendered. I'm tired of killing for today," sighed 7. He and 1 looked at each other and burst into laughter.

"Tired of killing," chortled 1. "Good one." He and 7 disappeared down the corridor. 3 flipped off his radio and motioned to 6, and they too vanished down a hallway. Soon the only ones left were 4 and 5. 5 looked at 4.

"So...you up for a game of Go Fish?"

Chapter Waiting

Year of the Torto, aboard Tree Glen, a small station above the planet Iris, the Mesda Galaxy, 9:4 in the evening.

1 and 7 wandered down the hallway. Nothing of interest was on the walls, just typical metal plated corridors, extending forever.

"Man this place is kind of creepy when you think about it," commented 1. 7 gave him a look. "You know, like stop right now and look straight ahead. Does it ever end? We know it does, but what if it didn't? What if it just went on forever. Maybe we're trapped in some giant vortex of swirling nothingness, and pretty soon will just die. Oh my god I don't want to be killed by the nothingness! It would be so disheartening...not to mention that I would be dead. Oh the horror!"

7 stared at him for a while. Finally he responded. "What the hell are you talking about?"

1 blinked a couple times and shook his head. "Uh nothing.. Yeah nothing at all."

"No kidding," smirked 7. "You talking about being _killed_ by the nothing."

"Oh just rambling on. Nothing important. You know typical situation, the mind wanders, things get said." 1 sniffled. "That's all." There was an awkward silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, no I don't. I'm fine really." 1 tried to wipe his nose, but failed miserably for his face shield was still down. "Just fine. Let's just go okay?"

"Yeah whatever man," said 7. "Just if you're sure you don't want to talk about it."

"I don't. I promise." 1 and 7 continued down the hallway, 7 keeping a little more distance between them than usual. After a small time of walking, they arrived at the crossroads where they were supposed to meet the others. They stood for a few seconds, sat down, then 1 piped up. "Well I guess we should set up camp or something."

7 stared again at him. "WHAT?!? Dude, we don't have a camp. All I have is my armor, my weapons, and a nutrient bar. Who do you think we are, some warrior party killing things for experience points?"

1's face had a blank expression. "What are experien--"

"Just never mind. You wouldn't get it. Seriously though, what is wrong with you? You've been acting weird since we split up!"

1 sighed. "It's just that you know in all the movies? Like the horror ones?"

"I thought you only watched the kiddie channel back home."

"Yeah well they still have horror films. Like that one, about the dog, and the darn kids? Anyway, whenever they split up, they all get taken, or captured, or abducted!"

"You're well aware that all three of those words meant the same thing right?"

"That's beside the point! The fact is I'm saying that we're doomed!"

"You think we're doomed because of kid shows that you watch?

"Well, that and the glowing blade that's been following us pretty much the entire time we've been walking."

7 leapt to his feet. "Are you kidding me? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well I was kind of scared..."

"Holy Mariton! Where the hell is it?" 7 leveled his rifle, looking around in a panic. At first he saw nothing. Then the bluish blade stood out in front of them. "AAAA! Shoot it shoot it!" Shots rang out as bullets pinged off the metallic surfaces surrounding the two soldiers. The blade wavered a few times, once falling nearly to the floor.

"Yeah we hit it!" yelled 1.

"Stop yelling, start shooting!" replied 7.

"I _am_ shooting!"

"I don't care anymore, just shut up!"

All of a sudden the blue glow was gone. 1 and 7 immediately stopped firing and began straining their eyes to see in the darkness. Not like it would help, since he's invisible.

"I'm reloading, cover me,"murmured 7. "When I'm done, you'll do the same."

"Right," muttered 1, his eyes and his rifle sweeping from side to side as he shuffled his feet. There was a click as 7 slid his magazine into place. 1 grabbed a magazine from his belt and knelt down, holding his gun with one elbow as he attempted to remove the old magazine.

"It's stuck, stupid son of a..." 1's voice trailed off as he fumbled with his weapon. The silence was broken only by the clicks and clacks of 1's rifle and his occasional swearing. Otherwise, 7 couldn't hear anything apart from the beating of his own heart. He realized his breathing had become rather shallow, and he forced himself to calm down. He began counting his breathing, trying to breath in and out for a count of four. Then he heard a thump. Coming from his right, 7 wheeled around and looked at the wall. The light hanging down from the ceiling in the service corridor was swinging, and a plume of dust was rising from the floor.

"It's there! Fire!" screamed 7, as he began unloading his clip in the direction of the light. The blue blade emerged again from the air and moved quickly towards them. 7 threw himself aside as the blade flew towards him. "1! Look out!"

"Got it loaded!" 1 said as he looked up, just in time to see a blue light flash toward him. "Gah!" he yelled as the blade slid between the armor plates on his left arm, completely severing it. 1 fell back against the wall, his gun falling from his right hand, taking the left arm with it.

"No!" shouted 7, but as he leaned forward the blade made a complete sweep and cut off the barrel of 7's rifle. The sheer momentum of the hit knocked 7 down the service hallway, now without his gun. Grimacing in pain, 7 could taste the blood inside his helmet. "My nose must be broken," he thought as he licked the blood from his upper lip. Looking up, he nearly screamed in fear as the blue blade was heading towards him. Thinking quickly, 7 remembered his Lancer, strapped to his right thigh. Reaching down, he struggled to undo the clasp. "Comon, I at least need something to buy me time," he moaned as he grappled with the holster.

"Take that thing down!" Number 3's voice echoed down the hallway. A burst of gunfire came from behind the floating blade, and a loud burst of static was heard over the headsets in the squad's helmets. 7 yelped in pain and clutched at his ear with his left hand, or at least the place where his ear was on his helmet. "I got his camouflage generator, that was the static," shouted 3. 7 looked up and sure enough a figure was flickering into existence alongside the blade. Tall and thin, 7 did not have time to look it over. Finally wrenching the Lancer from it's holster, he leveled at the thing and squeezed the trigger. With supernatural reflexes the alien leapt over the bullet and slapped the gun out of 7's hand, breaking a few fingers in the process. The thing grabbed 7 by the throat and heaved him in the air, waving his sword behind him like a madman.

"Out of the way!" yelled 3, to nobody in particular as he sprinted towards the alien, raising his pistol. "We are not going to lose anyone!"

A flash of blinding white light stopped him short as the camouflage generator short circuited and exploded in a burst of sparks and smoke. 3 coughed loudly, and shielded his face from the light. As the smoke cleared, he raised his Lancer and began to fire, but stopped in utter confusion. There was nobody in the hallway. No alien, no 7.

Chapter Together

Year 2811, somewhere not accessible to normal people...who haven't—I already said this, so you should know where this is.

Xytan Dre'Cyne closed his eyes as his stealth generator burst. As soon as the noise died away Xytan opened his eyes. And was completely confused. He was in a room, a round marble room, that was very big. Xytan stared around uncomprehendingly, his jaw dropping a little. It was only after the astounding size of the room set in did Xytan notice that there were other beings in the room. A dozen curious faces looked at him; actually only 11 looked at him with inquisitive features, for the last being had a placid look of serenity. Finally coming to terms that he wasn't back on the station, and either dead or in some sort of warp, Xytan remembered that he was still holding the human soldier. Glancing front again, the man's face was look of pure terror. Not only was he being held up by a threatening alien being, he had just appeared in some random place that he had never seen before in his life. Xytan dropped the human, who fell onto his posterior, where he remained in a state of shock. Deactivating his blade, Xytan looked about as his captors. They didn't appear to have much in common. They all stood on four legs, but aside from that, there was not one universally common feature. Xytan walked forward a few steps, causing some in the room to withdraw, looks of fear and caution on their faces. The others all tightened their grip on their weapons. For a few gut-wrenching moments, their was an almost tangible tension in the room. All eyes were on Xytan, and his cold eyes flicked from one person to the next, evaluating their threat level. A short cough snapped the tension, and all heads turned toward the noise.

"Alright everyone," said Terisphal cheerfully. "We shall all introduce ourselves, so we feel more connected."

"Like that's going to work," smirked Mitchell.

"Well since you were talking, you go first mister Mitchell."

"What is this, first grade?" mumbled Mitchell. There was an awkward silence. "Uh, what do I say?"

"Say your name obviously, then your species and what planet and time period you're from," tittered Teriphal.

"This is ridiculous," sighed Mitchell. "My name is Calvin Mitchell, I am human, and I am from Earth. The year 2020, just like my vision." The other people in the room glanced around in confusion. "Sorry that was a bad joke. Alright Nik you're up."

"I'm Nik Lucs, and from the same place as Mitchell."

"I'm Terrence Smith, and same as them."

"Kelly Montag, human, Earth, year 2020."

"I am Brad Mylun and I'm sick of this."

"Come on Brad, just say your stuff," whined Smith.

"I'm not going to! This is stupid!" shouted Mylun

"He's from the same place as us," whispered Mitchell to the rest. Brad slouched down against the box things and folded his arms. "'E's a bit grumpy," added Mitchell.

The angelic alien, which is kind of funny to compare it to an angel since there is one in the room, looked up. He took a small step forward and cleared his throat. "My name is Jericonne. I am a fress, of the planet Ekita. I...am not quite sure of the year when I left. Or when I was removed, I should say." Looking awfully embarrassed, Jericonne moved back to his place in the circle, or as much of a circle as it could be. Next the man with the helmet stepped forth.

"The name which I hold is Vector Ribonson. We did not have a name for our planet but the time was 2 decades past the fall of Splendor Pass. I, also, am human." Vector stepped back as Jericonne had done. Lucs leaned over to Montag. "What kind of name is Vector? It's like some bad joke...like the one in that movie Airplane. You remember that movie?"

"I try not to, but yes. And don't explain the scene to me. I know it," said Montag.

"You sure? Because there are these three guys and--"

"Lucs?"

"Yeah sir?"

"Shut up."

After Vector stepped back there was a long pause. Nobody remaining seemed to want to speak of anything. Terisphal looked up and started focusing on the meerkats. Getting the hint, they all three stepped forward. All the rest heard was a series of chirps and warbles as the three meerkats chattered, alternating looks between each other and the group. When it appeared that they were finished, Lucs blinked. "So is everyone else just as lost as I am?" 9 heads nodded in agreement. Terisphal chortled, his eyes twinkling. They were literally twinkling. "Sir that angel dude is starting to creep me out," murmured Lucs.

"He's already creeped me out," replied Mitchell.

"Of course, because they were so skittish when they arrived I forgot to translate their voices for the rest of you." Terisphal laughed as his eyes lost their twinkle then glazed over. Strange words echoed about the room, but Terisphal's mouth never moved. There was a moment of panic as all faded into darkness, but within a second the light was back, the angel smiling cheerfully at the group. "There we are, now you may speak again," Terisphal gestured to the meerkats.

"Sir..."

"Yes Lucs, I know he's freaking you out," sighed Montag.

"Yessir."

The meerkats glanced about cautiously. Then one of them spoke up. "I am Krrrf, he is Liiis, and that one is Mooox. You can call us K, L, and M. We have powers of telekinesis, and can throw things around with our minds. We were actually in the middle of a civil war for power in our country, before we were...taken. We have seen many a brother die. We are not afraid of death." K made a small noise, looking nervous. "That is all."

Terisphal laughed in pure happiness, apparently overjoyed that everyone was so compliant. Smile still stretching across his pale face, he swiveled his head about, searching for the next contestant. Locking his gaze onto the soldier seated on the floor, he pointed a pale finger. For a few moments, the soldier simply sat, glancing around at everything. Eventually he regained his composure and struggled into a standing position. Tapping the side of his helmet, his visor slid open, receding back into the metal siding. First his face, covered in blood from a broken nose, held the placid look of confusion, but then smoothly transformed into a rigid military face.

"I am Spec Ops Recon 7, part of a search and rescue team on Iris, in the Mesda Galaxy. Well actually we're kind of a search and kill team, because usually there isn't anyone to rescue. We take the attacks. Not the accidents or natural disasters, but when there is some sort of fight, that's our job. And right before I came here, this guy," 7 jerked his thumb at the tall alien possessing the sword, "was trying to stick me." The aliens hand went to his sword and 7 just as quickly raised his hand, armed with a fragmentation grenade. A boom echoed throughout the chamber, causing both of them to drop their weapons and clasp their hands over their ears.

"Now there shall be no fighting among the chosen army. We are fighting for the same cause!" scorned Terisphal.

"You have yet to tell us what that cause is," Vector reminded him.

"All in good time. We still have two more introductions to finish." Terisphal nodded at the smoke cloud.

The cloud condensed into a tight ball, darker than one can imagine, It began to twirl around, then stretched into the blurry form of an unusually tall human. A voice pulsed throughout the room.

_I am Jakskaj. I come from nowhere. I belong nowhere. I can be where I please, but cannot interact. Only observe. And observe I have, many many things for many many years. Now, it is time._

"Time for what?" questioned Mitchell impatiently.

"One more must speak, then you shall be briefed, so to speak," calmed Terisphal. "Get it? So to speak, one must speak?" Terisphal let out a trickle of laughter as everyone else stared at each other, not understanding the laughter.

"Was that supposed to be funny?" said 7.

"I don't get it," whined Smith.

"Well well. Now you shall speak," commanded the angel, gesturing lightly at Xytan. Grudgingly, Xytan stood up straight and dropped his hands to his sides.

"I am Xytan Dre'cyne. I come from the same time period, and nearly the same place as 7. We have some...differences. Very violent differences." Xytan sat upon conclusion, clasping his hands around his knees.

"Now will you tell us why we're here?" asked Mylun angrily.

"Yes! Now you see," tittered Terisphal, "you are here to save all life, by defeating the enemy."

"Which is?"

Many mouths fell open as the answer was put in words. Terisphal spoke softly. "The Overseer...of Hell."

Chapter Briefing

Year 2811, same place as previously mentioned

Each face held a look of astonishment for a long moment after the news was broken. Slowly, ever so slowly, each warrior came to terms with the information. Anxious looks were exchanged and Smith began to wring his hands. This was an extremely frightening prospect, though not entirely surprising. Being taken captive by an angel would make this kind of idea rather logical, though nonetheless jarring. Montag was the first to speak.

"Would you mind giving us the background to this...engagement?" requested Montag.

"Certainly." A dark shadow descended upon Terisphal's face, and his mouth twisted into a sad frown. "Thousands and thousands of years ago, a treaty was agreed upon. Before the treaty, Heaven and Hell constantly fought for control over life. There were good times and bad times. Horrific times. Times of mass death and corruption. They would be replaced with times of unimaginable prosperity, which naturally was when the power tilted in the favor of Heaven. We never fought each other outright; we always fought with the people of the universe, using them like pieces in a chess game. Worlds would fall either to darkness or be raised into the light. Dozens of civilizations were crushed and still others preserved. Once a world was won, it was rarely won for long. Finally, after many tragic wars, we met, Heaven and Hell. A treaty was written, called the Treaty of Selection. It was agreed that neither Heaven nor Hell would have any control over planets. The people would be in complete power over what happened. For a few decades the plan was moving along smoothly. Unfortunately, civilization tends to be full of crooks and criminals. Too many places were falling into times of misery for us to bear. We were afraid that the demons had intervened, planted seeds of destruction in the colonies of the worlds that were so quickly falling into despair. Panicking, we tried to set things right. We sent down guardian angels to guide some of the better people to help change the worlds for the better. Not long after we sent the angels, the demons found out about what we were doing. Blatantly denying any involvement in the fall of the worlds, and making the claim that life in general is evil, they accused us of breaking the treaty. It nearly led to all out war. Angels were disappearing from worlds more on the brink, and they always fell into darkness after the angel was lost. We pulled back our angels and tried to talk with our enemy. After years of debate, we finally decided we needed to come up with a new treaty, a new set of rules about the planets. Our enemy, however, was not as cooperative. They suggested that we have a battle, a small "game" if you will, to decide the outcome of power."

"So we are going to be fighting the army of Hell?" K asked in a frightened tone.

"No, you will not fight them face to face. It will be more of a race. The most complete army who reaches the meeting place will be declared the victor. You will be fighting the challenges that the Overseer of Hell gives you. It is almost more dangerous than fighting an army itself, because although there is a limited amount of intelligence these summoned challenges have, there is no end until you reach the finale, or are killed. There are only brief pauses, otherwise you must move on." Terisphal sighed. "We had hoped to avoid any casualties, but it appears as if this is not the case. We had to gather an army, and we took the best people from many worlds to choose from, and you are the finalists."

"So if we lose, you get another team to go?" questioned Lucs.

"No. You are all we have. You are the army of Heaven."

"Where must we travel to?" inquired Jericonne.

"You must go to the Variant Space."

Jericonne shuddered. "You mean the Variant Space which has no life? Which is past the shattered plains of Uratak, where only the deceivers and betrayers are condemned?"

"The very same, though there will not be anyone there at the time of your arrival," replied Terisphal.

"What's so bad about this place?" Montag asked Jericonne.

"It's not the place that's the bad part, it is the plains of Uratak, the path to get there. And is this the path we must travel?"

"It is," confirmed Terisphal.

Jericonne shuddered again, his smooth face shaking, his eyes showing fear and anxiety. "The plains are not only shrouded in a dusty haze which picks at your eyes and burns your throat, but the plains are always shifting. Not for more than 1 hour do the plains stay the same. Some move up, some down. Others disappear completely. It is insanely treacherous, and I regret saying this, but unless we have some divine help, we will not make it one day."

"Divine help?" Mitchell laughed. "Dude, we were kidnapped by an angel. How much more divine can you get?"

"Unfortunately," sighed Terisphal, "I am not able to directly intervene." Mitchell's face metamorphosized into a look of disbelief. Terisphal shrugged. "It is forbidden by the ruled on conduct. The army must make their own way to the meeting place." Mitchell continued to stare on in horror, and everyone else's faces began to mimic his.

"Well," said Lucs sarcastically. "I'm out of ideas. Anyone else? No? Great." He turned to Terisphal. "Can we go home? I think I have a better chance against a burning dropship than a field of cursed rocks."

"I am sorry. You can not go back, ever. Once this battle is finished, we will decide what happens to you."

"Well whatever it is can it end with us living? Because you know, I don't really embrace this fact of imminent death. It's not quite pleasing to me. You know, like if someone said I was going to win a car. Or a pony. Or something," rambled Lucs.

Mylun emerged from his gloom and stood up. He took a step forward to draw some attention to himself. "I say we go on with it," he stated bluntly.

"And what changed your mind?" mused Mitchell.

"My life is already screwed up, and since I am never going back, might as well blow the hell out of somebody." A genuine grin flashed across his face as he hefted his rifle. "Anyone else in the mood for some dead demons?" A cheer went up from many of the others in the room, and other weapons were brought up in a similar fashion.

Ribonson spoke. "The plan is to make our way to the meeting area first, make our way to the Overseer and hand him his fate as well, then report back to you?" he questioned, gesturing to Terisphal.

"Actually," said Terisphal timidly, "you will not actually fight the Overseer at all."

"So not only do we not fight the army, we don't even fight the bad guy?" asked Jericonne in astonishment.

"No, once you get there and are victorious, there will be a final challenge. Something that does not involve weapons and death."

"What if, say we kill him on accident?" wondered Lucs.

"You cannot kill him. He can not be defeated by simple weapons of mortals such at yourself."

"You degrading our weapons angel boy?" shouted Mylun.

"No, I just mean to say..." the noise soon escalated into an argument, encompassing nearly all of the people in the room. Montag stood still, arms crossed, his face employing a look of deep thought. As the others continued to bicker in a childish manner, Montag waved two fingers and caught the attention of Terisphal. Terisphal floated down to the ground and walked to Montag. "You have a question, Commander Montag?" presumed Terisphal, though it was hard to hear him over the din in the background.

"Yes," Montag started slowly. "So after we get to the meeting place first, we still have not won the "war", correct?"

"Correct," affirmed Terisphal.

"Then we have to do some sort of mental or emotional challenge to finish."

"Correct."

"Well, what happens if we win the race but lose the final step?"

"I'm afraid it's all or nothing, Commander Montag. In that case, this would have to start again. That is the only way that we would be allowed to get a new army. It would be considered a stalemate, for even if Hell's army completed the ending event, they would not have won the race. Therefore each side would have one win, one loss. And because the armies are already there, they would have to be disqualified, and another army put in their place. Hopefully it doesn't come to that. We would rather win this and win it quickly, without having to ruin any more lives."

"But if we did get there first, we would assure that at the least you would get a second chance."

Terisphal pondered Montag's statement for a second. "Yeees...if you put it that way, then yes you assure that we haven't lost."

"Well then what are we waiting for?" Montag shouted. "Everyone form up!" All the members of Montag's squad, 7, and Xytan fell into position, standing up crisply. The rest of the crowd stood about staring at each other, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Montag sighed. He had to remember he wasn't commanding just his men now. Now there were more, many more very...different...people. "Get in a line!" Everybody understood that and soon there were two lines parallel to each other, with all the members staring at Montag with rigid intensity. Montag paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back.

"Now you've all heard what we have to do. Get to the Variant Space, complete a final task, and we're done. Now, we have to do both of these things to ensure victory. Anything less is either a loss or a draw, which is not acceptable. Am I right?" A few voices shouted out approval. "I sensed some doubt in your response!" Now all of the beings gathers agreed strongly. "Now, I am going to say that we are going to win this, win it for us, win it for everyone we know, win it...because we can win it. But if we want to win it, we have to get the hell out of here and on our way. Now." Montag turned back to the angel, who was sporting a grin and floating a few feet in the air. "You lead us as far as you can and point us the direction, and we can take it from there."

"Terisphal was giddy with excitement. "Yessir!" he yelled cheerfully, did an about face and flew off, with the party of 14 hot on his tail.

Chapter Beginning

Year 2811, and you better remember where it is.

The awkward alliance of fourteen had to exert a good amount of energy to keep up with the ecstatic angel. Not only was he moving rather quickly, he was also able to fly over the landscape, thus rendering him immune to any ground obstacles. And there were many. The land that they ran on was very intangible, yet tangible at the same time. Unreal, yet completely real. The land would fade from one picture to another seamlessly, giving the impression that it was supposed to be like that. It obviously wasn't, as the crew ran from a wooded thicket into a snowy cave, then out of the cave onto the ocean. Although the scene varied consistently, the air never changed. Whether they were running through the hottest desert or trekking across a moist swamp, the air kept the same feeling that it had been since the fourteen had arrived: very cool and sparce, but still letting one breathe comfortably. Well, the ones who had to breathe at least. Jakskaj didn't consume anything at all, and Jericonne had mastered the art of self-sufficiency with his magic.

The running was slowly wearing the men out, especially Smith, who was threatening to just fall over on the path. Finally, when it seemed that they could take no more, Terisphal slowed almost to a standstill. The followers trotted, or stumbled, to a stop. Montag walked up next to Terisphal and glanced over the angel's right shoulder. Montag swore, and blinked his eyes.

Stretching out before him looked like all of Hell composed into a strip of demonic, barren land, filled with treacherous chasms and insanely frightening rock formations, tearing out of the ground like jagged razor blades. As Montag tried to fully comprehend what he was looking at, there was a sound that resembled metal rubbing against metal, accompanied by a chorus of screeching voices, calling out in agony. Everyone dropped to their knees and grasped their heads. Jakskaj shrank into a tiny mass and fell to the earth. Forcing his eyes open, Montag lifted his gaze back to the deathly wastelands. They were rapidly shifting formation, changing into a new landscape of disaster, just like Terisphal had said. After an painfully long time, the grating noise stopped, and everyone regained their composure.

"Holy shit," complained Mylun, rubbing his temples. "If that happens more than once a year, I think we're screwed!"

"So this is the path to the Variant Space?" choked Montag.

"Yes, Commander, it is," replied the angel solemnly.

"Damn it, guys, maybe I was wrong," laughed Montag. "Who still wants to go?"

"Only if we can do something about that god-forsaken noise!" said Lucs angrily.

"Angel?" requested Jericonne. "Is there anything you can do to help?"

"I can," said Terisphal," supply you with the means for a spell that temporarily deafens anyone nearby. Unfortunately, that also means you cannot communicate with each other via speech. Unless you can read lips of course. But on the flip side of that, some of you don't even _have_ lips. You will have to find a different way to speak."

"Sounds pretty good," said Smith hesitantly. "We going to go for it?" Everybody was silent as each fell into their own thoughts. Then Vector spoke up.

"Why not? What do we have to lose?"

"You mean besides our lives?" questioned Mitchell sarcastically.

Vector shrugged. "I bet we'll lose those anyway."

Mitchell clapped his hand on Vector's shoulder, a smile splitting across his face. "You know, I like this guy's outlook! Sure he's dressed like a guy at the Renaissance fair, but still." He turned his head to the warrior. "I like you, man."

"Alright enough with the bonding already," Montag said exasperatedly. "Let's just pack up and get ready to move out."

*****

A few hours later the team was finishing up last-minute preparations. Montag looked up and caught the eye of Terisphal as the angel glided towards him. Montag straightened up and gave a nod of recognition. The angel had been grinning nonstop since Montag's speech on the move, and it had begun to become almost an annoyance.

"This is marvelous, just marvelous," Terisphal said, bubbling with overwhelming satisfaction. "I have a great feeling about this."

"Yeah, cause you ain't goin'," grumbled Mylun.

Montag shot Mylun a disapproving look, but he couldn't really disagree with his fellow soldier. Sure, he had instilled a little bit of hope and dedication in the rest of the group, but how much would that matter against not only a Hellish foe, but a demon land? Honestly, not much. "Well it's not like there was anything else we could do," thought Montag with a feeling of surrender. "Either we go out hopeful and die, or we go out and...die." He knelt down and continued greasing his sniper rifle. How cool would it be to kill a devil with this thing? A few heroic images flicked about the commander's mind, and a small smile tugged at his lips. Standing back up, he surveyed everyone else, absently noting their degree of readiness. Aetius was sparring with Jakskaj, who was taking the form of various creatures. A dragon, a serpent, a vampire, a...mule? Montag let out a short spurt of laughter. Standing next to them was Jericonne, his eyes partially closed, muttering incantations. Vector was laughing carelessly with Mitchell who appeared to be doing an impersonation of a crab. Mitchell and Vector had become fast friends in the few hours since they had talked. Vector appreciated Mitchell's quick wit and humorous demeanor, and Mitchell was happy that he had a new audience. 7 was sitting in along the wall, leaning back. He continually loaded and unloaded his pistol as he sat staring downwards. He had barely spoken since his introduction and had not made any advances towards friendship to anyone. Likewise, the alien Xytan was attacking the pillar in the center of the room with intense ferocity. His eyes were dark and focused, and he had not talked to anyone either, and he seemed to have a hostile demeanor about him. Needless to say, that helped encourage his lack of friends. The meerkats were racing about the room, touching up and reorganizing each and every person's belongings. K ran up and grabbed Lucs rifle.

"Hey what the hell?" sputtered Lucs. "That thing already doesn't work, don't--"

"Don't worry I can fix it." K tossed the rifle up into the air and held it there with his mind as the rifle disassembled itself.

"Aw Montag, did you see? I mean I can't...I'm not...I am so screwed. I won't even be able to carry the damn thing with how many pieces it's in now," whined Lucs. As Lucs continued complaining, K stayed focused, squinting intently at the mechanical workings. His whiskers stood up, and quick as a hacker's typing skills, the rifle reassembled itself. It shuddered in the air, then fell into K's waiting hands. He presented it to Lucs.

"Fixed," he announced proudly.

"Yeah fixed my foot," grumbled Lucs as he grabbed the rifle. Suddenly the muzzle flashed as Lucs hand grazed the trigger. Shouts echoed about as bullets embedded themselves in the stone. Mylun grabbed his helmet and slammed it on his head.

"Jesus Christ!" shouted Mylun. "What are you doing? Do you have any idea what a safety is??"

"But, he, it," sputtered Lucs, pointing at K.

"Oh don't even try to blame it on the meerkat you crazy martyr," scoffed Mylun. The others laughed as Lucs mouth opened and closed like a child being bested in an argument. Lucs turned to K, who was rolling about giggling.

"Alright get over here you little fuzzball," shouted Lucs. K scampered away and Lucs gave chase, knocked over his rifle in the process. Another shot went off. Mylun fell off the crate he had been sitting on.

"God damn it!" he yelled, clambering back up onto his perch. "Lucs what did I just tell you?" Lucs fell to the ground as he was pushed over by K's telekinesis. As he struggled to get back up, L sauntered up and casually put him back on the stonework. A struggled yelp of exasperation escaped from Lucs as he tried to regain his footing, but to no avail.

Montag shook his head, a smile breaking across his features. Hefting his freshly greased rifle across his shoulders he sighed.

Mylun heard the small exhale of air. "What's up, Commander?"

"I can't believe we're going to do this. I just can't believe it." Montag shook his head again, his chinstrap flapping against his helmet. "But we are and that's that." He spent a few more moments watching Lucs struggle with the tiny furry creatures. Then he slid his rifle across his back, grabbed his chinstrap and buckled it. He turned to regard Mylun. "Are you ready to kick some demonic ass?"

Mylun pumped his fist in the air. "Oo-rah!"

Chapter March Forth

Year 2811, and I don't think I need to do these anymore because it hasn't changed for I don't know how many chapters and I highly doubt it will change again so consider this the last chapter that you will see this little fact at the beginning of the chapter...it bids thee farewell.

Montag, Aetius, and K stood at the head of the group, along with Terisphal. The mood was light-hearted, even though in the back of everyone's mind death was close at hand. It hovered about like the smell of smoke, or the stench of a basket of rotting fruit, leaning more toward the fruit because some people like the smell of smoke. Vector and Mitchell chatted about their differing lives. Lucs walked with L and M, refraining from getting back at them in any way as he remembered the pounding that they gave him earlier. Mylun walked near the back, talking with Jericonne and Jaks, and was constantly calling at Smith, who was lagging somewhat behind, due not only to his excess of equipment, but also the steady diet of Miss Debbie's snack cakes. 7 walked just a small ways behind Smith, and Xytan brought up the rear, his eyes glued to the ground, only looking up occasionally to make sure he was still following the group. Montag glanced back to survey those under his command, then looked thoughtfully at Terisphal.

"Any reason why we have 14 people?" he questioned. "Seems like a sort of nonlinear number."

Terisphal glanced back at the men. Smith was struggling to get up a small incline as Mylun knelt at the top, laughing. "To tell you the truth, we were only supposed to have 13."

Aetius turned towards the angel. "Who was supposed to be left out?"

He and Montag followed Terisphal's gaze toward the end of the column. The angel raised a transparent finger and pointed it at 7.

"That soldier was not supposed to be on this journey. I do not deny that he is a great warrior, brave of heart and true to faith, but he was not a planned addition to this cast of warriors. The alien performed much more righteous actions during his life, and saw the greater picture, was not just conscripted into the army. He joined to fight for the survival of his people. 7 knows nothing of this great battle. He has been controlled by the government of his race, a typical government who seek nothing but control and territory, caring not for the wellbeing and existence of other races. It reminds you of your world early on, does it not?" inquired Terisphal, glancing knowingly at Montag. He nodded. Terisphal turned back to 7, then looked toward Xytan. "I am rather surprised that no squabble has broken out between the two of them yet. I really think that Xytan has not initiated any battle for he does not blame 7 directly for any of the actions his race has made, and 7 has not fought for he is lost without leadership. You have taken the role of the leader, Kelly, but 7 is still feeling detached by your terms of command. There is too much brotherhood in this troop for him to understand. Gradually I believe he will come around, but one can never be sure."

Montag gave an understanding nod of the head. "So there would have been 13."

"Yes," responded Terisphal. "The lucky 13."

Montag gave a short cough. "Actually 13 is considered unlucky."

A look of astonishment crossed the angel's face. "Are you certain?" Montag gave another curt nod. "And your world?" Terisphal directed the question to Aetius. Another nod of affirmation. K bobbed his head up and down in response to Terisphal's inquisitive look. "Well tie me up and steal my halo!" The three mortals looked at each other in confusion. "Then it's a darn good thing we didn't have thirteen now isn't it? So what numbers are lucky?"

Montag stuttered for a moment, then replied, "Well everything except 13, really."

Terisphal grinned gleefully. "Well isn't that lovely? Now we have luck on our side! Everything is just going so well. I'm so very excited." Montag began walking as the others caught up, Aetius and K close behind.

*****

They all arrived at the point on the path that gave away to the demon wastelands of Uratak. Just as they got there the planes shifted. The horrible screeching brought anyone who had ears to their knees, their faces contorted in pain. Finally after what seemed like ages, the grating stopped, and silence was bestowed upon the group once more. Mylun threw up his hands.

"God damn it!" he yelled. "I hate that noise so much. Terisphal, will you please, pretty please, give Jericonne the incantation to erase the sound?" He sat down heavily onto the ground. "Ah, I swear there has never been a time in my life where I have wished I was born deaf more than now."

"Yeah, but if you were deaf, you wouldn't even be here," Smith pointed out.

_"You wouldn't have to be here_," mimicked Mylun. "Shut up Terrence," This caused a small outburst of laughter from the ones standing near.

"Everyone gather round," called out Montag. The group condensed into a small circle surrounding Montag. "No gather round him," sighed Montag, pointing exasperatedly at Terisphal. "Pay attention." He casually slapped the back of Mylun's head as he ran by, who let out a startled yelp.

"Hey what was..." complained Mylun, rubbing his head.

"Shush up and pay attention," said Montag, gesturing solemnly at Terisphal. The other soldiers struggled to hold back their laughter.

"Yes sir," grumbled Mylun. "Thinks he can hit me just cuz he's the bleedin' commander, now does he?" he mumbled as he turned about. Montag hit him in the head again.

"Minus two points for talking," scolded Montag. Lucs and Mitchell let out a burst of laughter. Montag grinned knowingly. "Now everyone, listen to what our heavenly guide has to tell us."

"I am going to give you some facts, that could prove to be very important," said Terisphal. "Or they could prove completely pointless, it all depends on how everything works out. I could give you the probability of what would be useful and what wouldn't, or just decide that and tell you the more probable things. That would save time and energy, but could perhaps lose lives--"

"Get on with it!" shouted Vector.

"Yes yes right right," stuttered Terisphal. He cleared his throat. "A few things that you should know before you set out on this trek. First I'd like to mention that anything and everything is dangerous. Nothing out there will be your friend. It is possible that they be beaten into submission and taken in as more of a servant, but that's really useless to do so, because honestly, what use does a beaten demon have? Also there would be very few ways to harness them without any possibility of them freeing themselves. We have magic, and some special substances such as mercury, but otherwise they will just escape from other more common materials, such as rope, iron, rubber, and such. And when I said anything, I really mean anything. Rocks, dirt, don't trust any of it. You know, the evil dirt can get in your eyes." Terisphal looked around to a sea of blank stares. "Erm, that was a joke, by the way. Dirt can't really hurt you, at least not on it's own. Sorry, that was my bad attempt at some humor, but I see you are not amused." They are not amused. Terisphal started again. "Another thing is that although there is night, night is not the time to let down your guard. Neither is the day. If something is going to attack you, it will attack regardless of the lighting situation. Keep at least two people on watch each time you go to sleep, and i suggest you keep sleeping to a minimum. With the shifting plains and demons crawling around, I think you'd be much safer if you are awake and on the move." He paused a moment to think. "That's all I have on my mind. Now remember, you are the single hope that life will continue to exist in it's semi-peaceful environment. If you fail, it's over. Period. If I were you, I would hope to die in the process rather than fail just to save yourself from the horrors you may have to endure once the world is consumed with fire."

"Oh, that's really reassuring," muttered Aetius to Montag. "Why doesn't he just tell us "No pressure" and hand us a poisoned pill?"

"Jericonne if you'll come with me I can supply you with the spell to deafen the ears," called Terisphal. For a few moments all was silent save the soft whispering of the angel. A few wanted to pray, but had no idea who to pray to. An awkward silence descended down upon the party, the kind of silence you feel right before you are called on at the Spelling Bee: you are confident, but have that horrible feeling that this could be the word that sits you down. Someone coughed nervously, and Lucs fingered the trigger on his rifle. Suddenly everything was completely quiet. Montag looked up sharply and saw people panicking. Mitchell's mouth was moving, but no words were coming out. Montag tried to speak, but also discovered that no sounds was coming from his throat. He attempted to cry out, but heard absolutely nothing. Falling down onto one knee, he grasped his head at a vain attempt to revive the noise. He tore off his helmet and pulled at his ears, fearing he was going insane. Again trying to scream out an obscenity, his hearing came back, as quickly as it had left.

"FUCK!" Montag screamed, startled by the volume of his profanity. Glancing around, everyone was wide-eyed, completely befuddled as to what had just happened, when Jericonne ran over.

"I'm sorry I'm so sorry," whined Jericonne looking genuinely concerned. "I didn't mean to I was just making sure the incantation worked!" Mylun gave him a look that could calm a raging polar bear.

"Well it sure as hell worked didn't it?" said Mylun. "Could ya give us a little warning next time or something? You know, like "Hey guys, I'm going to make you all think you've gone raving mad by removing your ability to hear!" Something like that, maybe?"

"Look I really am sorry," Jericonne pleaded, directing his gaze to the ground. "I was only making sure I would be able to save us from the dreadful grating noise. I meant no harm."

"Ah give him a break," scoffed Mitchell. "Honest mistake. At least now I know I'm not psychotic, since I don't feel like that all the time!" Mitchell walked over and gave Jericonne a hearty thump on the back. A smile tugged at the corner of the magician's lips, but he kept his eyes downcast. Montag gave Mylun a "chill-out-you-imbecile" look and put his helmet back on his head.

"Last chance to check your gear," commanded Montag, "This is where we leave Terisphal, where we leave all chance of going back. Once we're out on those plains, it's all forward motion. Make sure you've got everything, make sure you're coming, and ask any last minute questions to the angel. Those who choose to join me meet at that rock when you're ready," said Montag, gesturing to a large hook shaped rock in the near distance. With that he crisply saluted and gathered up his meager amount of gear, walking towards the rock. The others watched him as he got smaller, then turned back to their supplies. Smith glanced nervously at the other warriors, then grabbed at his ration bag.

"You know, maybe I should go, I don't like dark places," sputtered Smith, as Lucs checked his pistol's ammo clip.

Lucs gave Smith a playful punch in the arm. "Ah c'mon," crooned Lucs. "You signed up for action didn't you?" Smith nodded meekly. "And to make a difference? Again Smith's head bobbed up and down. "And let's not forget the most important reason you joined our squad," grinned Lucs. "To shoot things!" Lucs laughed and jammed his sidearm into the holster strapped on his leg. "That's the best part, and what we'll be doing the most out here," shouted Lucs over his shoulder as he grabbed his rifle and followed Montag. Smith ran his fingertips along the smooth casing of his gun. Mylun sat down beside him.

"Listen to Lucs until it becomes dangerous," grunted Mylun as he tightened his kneepads, small ovals of titanium interlaced with kevlar. "When it's too dangerous, just tune him out. That's what I do." Another grunt and the kneepad was securely fastened. "Anyway either we go kill some people, or we go home and hope we don't die. I'd rather kill the people first. Cept they're not really people are they? Well doesn't matter as long as a bullet'll down 'em," Mylun chuckled.

Mitchell stood up and put his hands on his hips. "Hey guys," he pondered, "was it just me or did that rock used to be over there?" He pointed to the left of the rocks current position. Mylun stood next to him, and the others followed their gaze. Suddenly the rock's tip twitched and curled back a bit more.

"Well I'll be damned," muttered Vector. Then everyone's vision shifted to look at the figure of Montag, getting ever closer to the said "rock". The rock straightened out and Montag nearly fell over backwards. As the giant limb that once used to be a rock lashed out towards Montag, he grabbed for his pistol. The others could hear snippets of obscenities as Montag leapt backwards, dodging the swing of the limb.

**Crack**! **Crack**! Shots rang out as Montag backpedaled to the group. There was a rumbling as the ground splintered, knocking the commander onto his back. Out of the ground rose a demon that stood about ten feet high, waving two giant tentacle limbs about, swishing through the air like a fly swatter. Everyone stood stock still, mouths agape as the creature let out a high pitched roar. Slapping its limbs together, it shook it's spindly body, looking great chunks of dirt. Its two dim eyes rotated independently, both coming about to fix on the paralyzed figure of Montag, propped up on his elbows, gazing at the thing. On short stumpy legs the monster started forward, and finally Montag came back into consciousness. Shaking his head violently to clear his mind, he hopped up and glanced around for his pistol. Unable to find it, he tore the rifle from his back and wheeled around. The beast was within 15 yards, and prepared to swing its arm. Montag's finger toggled the safety on his rifle, but he realized he wasn't going to be able to center the barrel in time. Just when it appeared that hope was lost, 10 shots echoed about in quick succession. The demon twisted sideways, and black/blue sludge dripping from the side of it's face. It's angular body fell heavily against the soil, once again knocking Montag from his feet. Rolling back upright, it looked past Montag and snarled angrily. Three more bullets ripped through its head, nearly putting the monster back on the dirt. Another snarl and the demon leapt high, high into the air, spinning about to face straight down. Then it plummeted back to the ground, burrowing in deep. A small ridge was created as the creature tunneled away, then disappeared when the demon dove deeper into the soil.

Montag pulled himself up onto his knees coughing. "Who," he coughed. "Who shot that thing?" He looked over to the other soldiers, then turned back and stared behind him. Out of the settling dust strutted Lucs, a smoking rifle across his chest.

"I came here to shoot things," smiled Lucs, helping Montag to his feet. "And that's what I'm going to do."

Montag clapped a hand on Lucs back. "That's what I like to see. Quick thinking, sharp aim, and a steady demeanor."

Lucs turned back to look at the other, grinning. "You hear that?" he questioned. "I believe our commander just told you guys to be more like me."

A hand fell upon Lucs shoulder.

"No, I definitely did not tell them to be like you. We only need one of you around here." Montag knelt down to pick up his pistol, then slipped it into it's holster at his side. "Alright, well meeting right hear is close enough to the rock...or where the rock was. So, we all set to go?" He was answered by a chorus of cheers. "Terisphal, any last notes."

The angel dropped his hands to his sides, then raised one up to his head in a salute. "Good luck, my friends," he said. Montag returned the salute, then waved to the other soldiers.

"Move out!" he yelled, and began to run off.

As they moved away at a brisk trot, Terisphal watched in admiration at these beings willing to risk their lives without a second thought. "Well, actually with multiple second thoughts," pondered Terisphal, "but they all decided to go. Although they didn't really have a choice. So it was rather inevitable." He stopped thinking and stared at the diminutive figures, shrinking in the distance. The angel sighed. "They are dedicated, nonetheless. I wish them luck." He suddenly found himself wishing to pray, but he had no idea to pray to, because he was a holy being already. So he decided to pray to the orange juice that he hadn't yet finished. Then after a short prayer, he settled down on the ground to wait, a glass of orange juice in his hand.

Chapter First Taste

Not too long after leaving the safety of the angel, the plains had shifted. Jericonne had deafened them all, and they stayed huddled near a small outcropping so they would only logically have to protect themselves on one front. But since nobody knew how things worked in this world, they had a few guarding the rock. Not only to make sure nothing came out of it, but to make sure the somehow it didn't suddenly gain magical powers and starting beating them up from behind. Jaks lifted himself up into the air to get a better view of the area around them, and check for any threat so he could warn the others ahead of time. Nothing of interest occurred, and after a few painfully long minutes the plains slowed to a stop. Jericonne unblocked everybody's ears, and they regrouped into a tight circle, with Jaks still floating above them. Montag waved his hand in the air and they set off at a brisk pace. After carrying on for about 2 kilometers, the band came upon a steep incline, extending up about 20 meters. They came to a stop, and most of them knelt down to rest. Smith fell back onto his end and began panting.

Mylun shook his head at Smith in mock disgust. "What are you, a dog? You want me to scratch you behind your ears?" Smith glared at Mylun, but continued his labored breathing.

Vector glanced quizzically at the two, then spoke to Mitchell. "What is this dog you speak of?"

Mitchell looked taken aback for a moment, then realized who he was talking to. "Oh, well they're these four-legged animals, that are usually pets." He received another thoroughly confused look from Vector. "People own them. They keep them around and pamper them and, well, it's like they're family. I don't know how I can explain it any better."

"They're companions, so to speak," piped up Lucs.

"Man's best friend," commented Montag.

Vector held his head, either in thought or in painful disarray. It was apparently just the thought. He started to speak slowly. "We do have an animal that could be called a 'pet', as you say, but in most cases where it is accepted in a household, it eats the adopting family shortly there after. Then it proceeds to wreak havoc on the town until somebody shoots it."

The rest of the group stared at Vector, with mouths hanging open. Montag cleared his throat. "Yeah, um our dogs don't really do that."

Mylun clapped Vector on the shoulder. "Dude, I am so glad I did not live where you lived." Vector shrugged, and nodded knowingly.

"I never had one. They seemed to be a bit too much trouble to me," mused Vector.

Mitchell laughed. "No way, really? I never would have thought they were any trouble. Any pet who eats the family, hey it's welcome in my home!" He laughed again and reached into his sack that was sitting on the ground next to him. "Hey Montag, need some rope to climb?" Mitchell pulled out a large coil of rope, complete with rappelling hooks and a grapple on one end.

Montag looked over his shoulder at the rope in Mitchell's hands. He raised his eyebrows in interest. "Where the hell did you get that? That wasn't on the supply list."

"Actually," said Mitchell, "I just found it. When we were packing up it was laying next to my sack. I figured you had put it there, so I took it." A look of realization dawned on him. "Hey I bet that angel guy gave it to us...what's his name. Uh Tearyfail, or Waterfall or whatever."

"Are you telling me we were with that angel for that long and you can't even remember his name?" questioned Mylun. "That's ridiculous! Even I know...wait. Nevermind I don't remember his name either. It was probably something either stupid, or difficult. I can't remember stupid or difficult names."

"But my name isn't difficult, and you always forget it," voiced Smith.

"Use process of elimination, _Terrence_," drawled Mylun.

L woke up from the nap he had been taking just in time to see Smith get an epiphany, and be rather perturbed by the fact. L chittered at Jericonne for a moment, then Jericonne replied "We were trying to remember the angel's name." L rubbed his little paws together, then spoke to Jericonne. "He said the angel's name was Terisphal," yelled Jericonne.

Mylun stared into space for a moment, then nodded his head. "Yes indeed," he pondered. "Mostly difficult with just a dash of stupid."

"How can you even call that name stupid?" exclaimed Lucs. "How cool is a name like Terisphal? It's even got the freaking "ph" sound in it! You know, the "fuh" sound that isn't an "f". Now that's cool."

"So you're saying Phoebe is a cool name," stated Mylun.

"Damn right," replied Lucs.

"Philoctetes?"

"Duh."

"Phyllis?"

Lucs was silent for a moment. "Okay, almost all names with "ph" are cool. Phyllis is just a special case."

"But it starts with "ph"!" argued Mylun. They proceeded to bicker about the fact that although Phyllis did start with a "ph", could it be cool?

Montag slapped a hand on his head. "Honestly, you two are worse that an old married couple and a pair of siblings, combined."

Smith raised his hand up a little bit. "But isn't that illegal?"

"And you're an idiot," Montag stated. "No offense meant."

"I never understood that 'no offense' phrase," mused Mitchell. "I mean if you didn't mean offense, what is the need to say it?"

"The purpose is to confuse the one you are offending with a mock apology and artificial sympathy," replied Montag.

"Yeah, do you really think that would work?" questioned Mitchell, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Don't worry, no offense taken," interrupted Smith. Mitchell turned to Smith with a look of disgust. Montag smirked.

"Damn straight I think it'll work, with the right crowd," Montag said with a grin. He grabbed the grappling hook that was attached to one end of the rope and heaved it up to the top of the incline. The hook disappeared over the edge and landed with a dull thump. Montag tugged on the rope to test the tension, and the hook fell back over the edge, obviously having not been connected to anything. "Heads up," called Montag. Lucs glanced up in time to see a grapple falling toward his face. He swore and roll out of the way and the grappling hook clanked onto the ground.

"Speaking of phrases that make no sense, why don't you change that to 'heads down'?" remarked Lucs. "Or even something simple like 'move'. I think I would understand much better if you just told me to move."

Montag shrugged. "Nearly dying builds character," pointed out Mitchell.

"But dying doesn't," retorted Lucs.

"Then don't die," commented Montag bluntly, as he threw the hook back up to the top of the ridge.

"Don't die," mocked Lucs. "What a concept. I guess I've been confused my whole life as to what to do." He brushed off his dust-covered shoulder, and returned to his kneeling position.

K whispered something to Jericonne, who leaned down to listen. Jericonne let out a short laugh and patted K's furry head. "K says you should use your telekinesis," said Jericonne to Lucs.

"Wow, another brilliant idea! Without you guys around I wouldn't know what to do!" exclaimed Lucs in mock enthusiasm. "Tell that fur-covered rodent I don't have any damn telekinesis."

"Oh he already knows." Jericonne smiled knowingly at the little meerkat, who stuck out his tongue at Lucs. There was a loud scraping sound then a dull thump. They turned to Montag who was looking up the slope, rope in hand. He gave the rope a few sharp tugs, then looked at the others.

"Got it," he remarked in a matter-of-fact tone. He grabbed his pack and tossed it over his shoulder. As he pulled it over his other shoulder, he looked up again. "Let's go, get your stuff together. Break's over." Montag connected the strap across his chest and pulled the vinyl strap to tighten it. The others followed suit and got their belongings organized. Vector slipped his shield across his back, and Aetius checked his weapons, which were yet to leave his body. 7 replaced his helmet and tapped the side lightly. With a whir of gears and a short hiss of pistons, the facemask slid across 7's chin, then covered the rest of his face, leaving just a reflective visor and a ventilator. Montag handed out rappelling clips to those who could use them, then grabbed his rifle, which had been laying against the rock, and clipped it to his belt. Then he began to climb.

"Upward ho," shouted Mitchell as he forcefully grabbed the rope Montag had just cleared and heaved himself upward. The rest followed, and within the better part of a standard hour they had all cleared the ridge. Jaks rose to a height where he was able to see beyond the rocks that studded the landscape. For a few moments he hovered above their heads, then he swirled back down to ground level.

"I see many figures, many creatures, mostly scattered and unguided, but there is a small group of mostly humanoid creatures who are moving swiftly in our direction," Jaks reported. "Also, unfortunately for us, the night is rapidly approaching. We have a standard hour, two at most I would say. Between that time we need to find shelter and defeat or elude these hunters."

"I vote we find shelter first, then set up to take on this threat," declared Jericonne, his expression calm. The others nodded in agreement. Everyone glanced around them, searching for something that could be used as a hideaway. Finally Vector pointed into the distance.

"I see a dark patch among the rocks, which is either a hollow, or if we're lucky, a cave," he bemused. "Either way, there are enough rocks about to make a camp of some sort to provide a small amount of protection." He squinted, then bobbed his head up and down. "Even better, there is a ledge on the cliff above

the opening, that will be a perfect position for a spotter."

"Perfect, let's move toward that location," ordered Montag. "Lucs, I want you to go about 50 meters ahead of us and scout out our path. Put down any small nuisances and notify us of any larger ones." Lucs saluted sharply and shouldered his rifle.

"Nothing like hunting to liven up the day," smiled Lucs mischievously. "Don't try to keep up with me." He ran ahead and disappeared behind a formation of rocks as the dull thumps of his boots faded.

"Aetius, I want you to do the same thing, but fall back behind us. Keep the group in sight, but make sure that you're not easily seen. If something comes in behind us, I want it to be between you and the company. If it ends up behind you, that's not that helpful. The rules of engagement that applied to Lucs apply to you as well. If it's small enough, kill it. If it's anything that you think might fight back, give some sort of signal so we can help you out." Aetius tilted his head and turned to leave. "Oh and one last thing." Aetius stopped and looked back. "If you use fire, try to keep the group relative unscathed." Aetius grinned and touched his brow with his fingers.

"You got it sir," laughed Aetius, and mirroring Lucs, he darted off, weaving through the terrain. Montag stared after him, a small smile at the edge of his mouth. He then faced the group again and motioned to Mitchell.

"Mitchell, you take L and 7 and go find those marauders," ordered Montag. "You did get your gun fixed by Terisphal right 7?" 7 said something quietly and gave an affirmative nod. "Fantastic. So you three move out in the direction that Jaks will set for you. You don't necessarily have to kill anyone, though it would be helpful, but just keep them moving slower, get their attention. Most of all, don't get killed. Right?"

"That's what I'm good at," said Mitchell with a grin. L saluted sharply with his furry little paw, and 7 bowed his head, hand in a meager salute. Mitchell slapped 7 on the back and rubbed L's head. "Let's roll." He started off at a brisk trot with 7 and L following him closely. Montag again watched them go, then turned back to the remaining soldiers. He spread out his arms, gesturing mildly at the men.

"Who's tired?" he asked, a glimmer in his eye. Smith raised his hand. Montag rolled his eyes and the rest of the group laughed slightly. Even being together for such a short amount of time, they had come to know Smith's pathetic mentality rather well. "Why don't we claim us a home?" There was a murmur of agreement and without a word of initiation everyone began jogging towards the cave. This set-up could actually work, thought Montag. Either Terisphal and whoever else picked this team was great at matching personalities or had just gotten really lucky. Whatever it was, it appeared to be helping, and if it kept up like this, it would certainly be invaluable in the long run.

"Whatcha thinking about, sir?" questioned Mylun, glancing at the far-off look on Montag's face.

Montag blinked once and directed his gaze back at Mylun. "Only that unspoken agreements and faithful companionships are the best weapon, Mylun."

"Also the best defense, sir."


End file.
